Dead Memories
by shallots
Summary: Harley clung to the possibility that this was still a nightmare, cooked up by a dose of fear gas into the respiratory system. Any moment now, she hoped to wake up in a sunshine filled room with Mr. J sleeping soundly beside her...
1. January Eighth

Commissioner Gordon slammed his car door shut and headed up the stairs leading to the Gotham City Police Station. He checked his watch, nearly six o'clock in the morning. The starless sky remained blackened over Gotham as he began yet another day of work. Already it was proving to be stressful when he got a call that they would be receiving a new inmate after the hospital believed she was well enough for release. They had been relieved to finally be rid of her, now she was Gordon's problem. Or at least temporally, her court date the following week would decide how long Gordon was responsible for the young woman.

He remembered the night they found her, almost three months ago to the day. After being rescued and delivered to a hospital by a certain masked vigilante, Gordon was called and informed that one of Gotham's most wanted may no longer be an issue.

A police officer rushed to meet the commissioner as he entered the room.

Officer Brown was relatively new to Gotham after he had transferred last month. Gordon had contemplated why such a handsome, clean-cut, young man would take the risk, Gotham City being one of the most dangerous places to be a policeman. But he supposed some of his men thrived on the action and excitement that came with costumed criminals and giant bats. Jim Gordon wondered if that's what kept him here this long and he simply could not admit to the thrill of working in a living comic book. Or perhaps he felt responsible for the city he had been raised in and didn't want to abandon it just as things took a turn for the worst. Either way, the police commissioner did not plan on giving up so soon.

He snapped out of this thoughts as the police officer began to speak, "We just got her a half hour ago, we put her in a holding cell," he handed Gordon a thick folder.

"How is she?"

"She hasn't said much sir, her doctor said she was on some medication," he paused, "And sir, she's wearing this dress... the one they found her in. She refused to change and I'm just letting you know it's pretty bad,"

Gordon nodded, he and Brown made their way to the other side of the building where their prisoners were kept.

She sat in the cell on the farthest side. Drug dealers, pimps and small time thieves arrested the night before stood at the end of their "cages" trying to catch a glimpse of the prisoner on the end of the holding cells. They were not discreet about it either.

"Get back!" Gordon yelled at the inmates, "Do something about this," he ordered an officer who was supposed to be guarding.

The commissioner attempted to quite all the catcalls and whistles that grew louder as he approached her cell. The other policemen made no attempt to help since the inmate being harassed was labeled as a "cop killer".

The woman sat back turned to him in the cell. Her hair was a mess, long with black and faded red dye clinging to it with a few inches of blond roots at her part. Her dress revealed dozens of healed over wounds that had left noticeable scarring.

Gordon could only shake his head in pity of her and what the Joker had made her.

"If you think she looks bad now," Officer Brown who was standing beside him began, "Wait till you see what he did to her face,"

"Ms Quinzel?" he spoke up.

"Call me Harley", she replied quietly, still not turning around, "What's taday's date?"

"It's January eighth,"

She gave a small, half-hearted laugh, "Time sure flies when ya havin' fun, huh commish,"

"Did anyone explain to you whats going on Ms- I mean Harley?" Gordon asked.

"A little,"

"Well," he sighed, "Where do I begin... maybe we should speak privately," he glanced at the other inmates who had quieted down somewhat then nodded towards the officer beside him who got a pair of hand cuffs, "We have to cuff you Ms. Quinzel, it's just a precaution," Gordon felt odd having to put the former doctor in cuffs.

"I undastand and I said call me Harley," she said flatly.

Officer Brown locked the cuffs around Harley Quinn's wrists before leading her towards the cell's opened door.

Gordon looked up at her face for the first time. Wiry stitches met both corner's of her mouth and spread across either side of her face in a twisted, black "smile", similar to the Joker's. Though the Commissioner noticed Harley's seemed to be done with more precision. It was clearly a carefully made smile unlike the Clown Prince of Crime's uneven one.

The top of her diamond patterned dress bore a dark, brown blood stain. Gordon made a mental note to see that she got some new clothing for when she would appear in court.

He wondered if it was wrong of him to feel compassion to someone who had chosen the life of a murderer. But somehow he still believed Harleen to be a victim of the Joker, not the clown's partner in crime.

Gordon tried not to stare and continued to the interrogation room, slowly, due to a walking cast Harley was still required to wear, wrapped around one leg. The commissioner could not help but glance every now and again at the macabre smile she wore. He could not imagine the pain that she endured as the monster carved it permanently into her face. Harley had just barely lived through the ordeal. If it had not been for the Batman or "the unknown individual" as the police were calling her rescuer, she would have certainly been dead having bleed out.

Despite her rescue and the doctor's best attempts at healing it, her face would never look the same. She would bare the same scars as her former lover in a week or so when the stitches were removed.

The police commissioner watched Harley sit down in a seat across the table from him. It was really a shame, Dr. Quinzel had been beautiful. The blond hair and wide blue eyes made him think of his daughter. It began to make him feel sick, thinking of seeing his own children in such a horrible state. He had personally called Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel when Harley was found and placed in the hospital. He explained to them the situation, what their daughter had done, what she would be charged with in court and at that particular moment; the fact that they could lose her. The Quinzels never came to visit they're only daughter like Jim Gordon had expected them to. Apparently her criminal ashamed her parents and kept them away from seeing her, even if it was the last time.

Gordon let out another sigh, he did not want to do this. After all this girl had been through he didn't want to have to explain that she may go to jail. But of course, the murders and theft could not go unpunished.

The police commissioner glanced through the folder Officer Brown had given him. It included everything concerning the disappearance of Dr. Quinzel, which seemed so long ago. It began with the day she was reported missing and ended with a list of injuries she had been treated for in the hospital as well as medication she had received.

Sedatives made up most of the list. Orderlies at the hospital worried about safely treating Harley for obvious reasons. They were concerned for her fellow patients lives as well as their own and so she spent most of the past three months unconscious or just barely.

"Several cuts, infections, a concussion, two broken legs, dehydration, malnourishment and... your facial injuries," Gordon read down over the list of things Harley was treated for, "Does that sound right?"

The woman across the table gave a weak nod in response. A defeated expression on her scarred face.

Gordon began to ask a question to which the answer was obvious, but required for police paperwork, "Can you tell me exactly what caused your injuries?"

* * *

Arkham Asylum was a much different place than when Joan Leeland had resided as chief of psychiatry.

Bruce Wayne had held a fundraiser for better security at the asylum after the Joker's escape. But the only form of security that seemed to change was that a large iron gate had been built in front of the building. Other than that, it was unknown what the money had been used for. Under the care of Hugo Strange few people entered those gates. When news stations wished to do reports on the asylum or its inmates cameras were no longer allowed. Most areas were made restricted, only allowing security guards, nurses, inmates and Strange himself to enter. And those employees were sworn to silence. Arkham quickly seemed to appear dark and mysterious, fitting for a city as strange as Gotham.

The inside became just as creepy as the outside. Most of the hallway's already dim lights flickered every so often, in need of some new light fixtures. The constant blinking cast sinister shadows across the walls which the paint peeled off of and was stained with blood.

The sound of patients screaming filled one hall particularly loudly that morning. The hallway which was farthest from the asylum's entrance, or exit depending on which way you were headed. This was the "high security" hall, though there was little difference between it and any of Arkham's halls. Dr. Strange had just gave it a title in order to make the public feel good. A judge saying he sentenced a murderer or a rapist to the "high security wing" of Arkham Asylum sounded better than; the murderer or rapist is sentenced to Arkham.

Above the terrified screams of the inmates yelled a very disgruntled guard, "Calm down, just everybody be quiet!" he made his way to the cell at the end of the hall, inside was the source of the other inmates panic.

"You! Shut up!" he pounded a fist on the metal door.

The inmate barely heard him over the screams and the sound of his own laughter, "What was that?" he giggled.

"You heard me you crazy bastard; shut the fuck up!"

"Crazy bas-tard," the inmate began through his hoarse laughter, "I get that a lot here. You people dooo know I have a name, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, just shut up, you're pissin' off the other inmates," the guard ordered, "Nothing's even funny,"

"Is it that nothing is funny ooor is it that yoou just don't get the joke-uh," the inmate replied still obscured by his darkened cell.

"Shit, I don't even know why I talk to you," he stepped back and grabbed his walkie talkie, "Hey I need a nurse with some sedatives and back up down here now," the guard spoke loudly to compensate for the noise surrounding him.

"What the hell's going on?" the guard on the receiving end of the walkie talkie asked, having heard all the chaos.

"Everyone's favorite inmate's got the giggles again,"

At that the amused inmate broke into another fit of laughter. Hoarse and terribly unsettling, the sound echoed through the "high security" hallway and into other halls, making more patients cry.

"I gotta find a new job," grumbled the guard.

* * *

_Happy Dark Knight Anniversary everyone! I decided to release my fic one year after the day we were blessed with one of the best movies ever created._

_Harley managed to survive, I'm sure you all saw it coming. Harley Quinn certainly cannot be killed that easily._

_Speaking of Harley Quinn, I think in one of my fics I said that my Harley was Katherine Heigl. Well, I changed my mind. It occurred to me that while Heigl may have made an excellent doctor, playing a scarred, bi-polar, ex-girlfriend of the Joker may not be her thing. I think she has the look being blond and having that giant smile but its getting difficult for me to see it. Especially the only thing I have watched her in was The Ringer._

_Instead I'm thinking more along the lines of Brittany Murphy. I have not seen any of her (Except Girl Interrupted but she wasn't in it long) but I watched some great Joker/Harley fan videos with her as Harley Quinn and it just seemed right. So I just thought I'd put that out there, though most of you are probably going 'the hell is she going on about? I'll picture who I wanna picture'. Meh, I don't know what the hell I'm going on about either._

_I think its January in my story, I really just wanted to do that because January eighth is David Bowie and Elvis Presley's birthdays._

_Dead Memories is of course the Slipknot song which I think fits this fic pretty well._


	2. Just Plain Criminals

"Why?" Harley became as defensive as she could with her sedatives making her drowsy.

"We need to know. You have a court date coming up very soon and we need that information. Officer Brown will write it down, if you can tell me what happened," he paused, "It may help your case,"

Harley glanced at the other policemen in the room, A tall dark-haired man, probably close to her age.

"Please," Gordon pursued.

He hated to make her relive the experience, especially when it was clear what happened. The permanent smile was a Joker trademark. But they needed the whole story, word for word documented.

Harley did not say anything for some time. She looked around the interrogation room and fidgeted against her handcuffs.

Finally she did speak, slowly and quietly she began, "H-he said we were gonna play a game,"

_Harley spun around looking for Mr. J, unable to locate the direction of his voice. _

"It wasn't a fun game,"

_She ran through the pitch blackness before, unsure of what would lie ahead. Harley didn't even know where she was running, possibly in circles as she made a desperate attempt to escape him. She never thought it would come to this. There had been several times that he scared her, but never like this. Harley had never ran from him._

"He had a-a uh, a sledge h-hammer,"

_Harley forced herself off of the cold concrete floor after a hard fall. She knew she had to keep going. That's when her Mr. J took a swing at one of her legs._

"That's what he used to... to break um, my legs," Harley explained.

_The sound of her breaking bones rang in her ears as she lay helpless in the floor, anticipating the Joker's next move. _

"He tied me to a chair,"

_The lights were back on, but Harley Quinn still did not feel relief. Mr, J secured her to a chair. She begged to him to stop this but he remained unchanged. The Joker stayed as cold-hearted as he would for any of his victims, maybe more so. His words cut like his knives when he told her he did not love her. And yet more than ever she wanted him. She wanted him to hold her, comfort her and put back together what he had broken, like he usually did. But this time he did not._

"And then he..." Harley traced the lines of her stitched mouth, "Ya know," she said sadly.

_The Joker had changed her world, he made her feel things she did not think possible as a psychiatrist, living out a mundane life like everyone else. Most of all, he made her feel loved. Of course it was fleeting and often came before or after several cuts and bruises, it was still there, however small. But as she began to bleed out she did not know what to think of Mr. J._

"And by 'he' you mean the Joker?" Officer Brown spoke up.

Harley cast him the best glare she could muster through her fog of sedatives, "Of course the Joker, who else?"

"I just needed to make sure," he scribbled Harley's story down.

"Have all your injuries been a result of domestic abuse and not self-inflicted?" Gordon questioned.

"I nevah did any of this to myself," replied Harley.

"Shacking up with the Joker's masochistic enough," scoffed Brown quietly.

Gordon ignored the officer's comment, "We need to talk about the Joker's escape from Arkham, the one you aided him in," he began as he flipped through Harley's file, "Were you or your loved ones threatened by the Joker in order to break him out of Arkham?"

"No,"

"Did he make you feel like he would cause you or your loved ones harm if you did not break him out?" questioned the police commissioner.

"No,"

He sighed, "Did you plan the escape together?"

"The Joker doesn't make plans," Harley said shaking her head feebly.

"Was your life ever threatened while treating the Joker in Arkham?"

"Once," Harley replied.

"And why was that?" continued Gordon.

"He doesn't need a reason," she explained.

The questions continued on for a long time. More questions about her aid in the Joker's second escape from Arkham and then even more about her life after. Was she held against her will? Did he threaten her to make her commit crimes for him? Harley barely noticed the questioning however, or the hours she had spent answering them. The past few months had been a drug induced blur to her. She was just satisfied to be away from the hospital, even if she traded the sterile white room for the fluorescent lighting of the police departments interrogation room.

Harley glaced breifly at the cement blocks partially up the wall and then the glass covering the other half of it. The Joker had probably spent some time in here, she thought. Probably hours as the police struggled to make the clown say something, anything of substance.

It gave Harley chills to think about him. It always did, that's why she had tried not to. Lots of sedatives and strong pain killers helped her mind wander elsewhere. But nevertheless the Clown Prince of Crime was never far from Harley Quinn's thoughts. He particularly haunted her dreams and nightmares.

"Did you ever try to escape?" Gordon asked one of the last questions needed for Harley's case.

"One time," she answered.

"Can you tell me when that was?"

"The last night I saw him," her hands moved toward her stitches.

The commissioner nodded, "Did you realize that you had made a mistake Harley? By associating with the Joker, that is,"

She shook her head, "I was planning on comin' right back when he calmed down,"

In her eyes, Gordon saw no emotion. Though her voice sounded depressed and weary he could not see it on her face. Everything the former doctor said with such a sad tone of voice was not met with equally saddened expressions. She simply seemed blank, like nothing was inside.

"That's all we needed to know Harley," Gordon finally said, "You've been scheduled to appear in court a few days from now," he explained, "Officer Brown will take you back to your cell. Unless you have any questions,"

Harley shook her head no.

Commissioner Gordon headed towards the door which had just unlocked with a loud buzz.

"Wait," Harley said, stopping him, "I do have a question,"

Gordon turned to face her, "Yes,"

"Where is he? The Joker, I mean. I asked the nurses at the hospital but... they wouldn't tell me nothin',"

Gordon paused, "I don't want to worry you with that information Harley, you have enough to be worried about. I'm sorry I can't tell you,"

"Wha- what?" Harley said in disbelief, "Why do ya care if I'm worried?" she yelled after him as he opened the heavy interrogation room door, "It don't matter how I feel commissioner, ain't got nothin' ta live for anyways,"

Harley's cries made her own head ache and spin from the medicine. Tears steadily blurred her vision as she continued to yell at the commissioner, begging him to tell her what became of the Joker.

* * *

"Good morning Patient four, four, seven, nine," a deepgreeted.

"Mmmorning Doc-tor Ssstraaange," Joker slurred a reply.

"I was told you were being disruptive this morning," the doctor continued as he sat down across from the Joker, a metal table between them.

The clown nodded, his eyes crossing involuntarily for a moment before moving back to their usual places, "I've been a baaad boy," he drug his tounge slowly over a bumpy scar, "Now I feeeel funny... but not funny ha, ha,"

"Do you like this feeling Patient four, four, seven, nine?"

"Nooo," Joker swayed back and forth.

"It's the sedatives that make you feel funny you see. And if you behave yourself, no one will make you take them," Dr. Strange explained as if to a five year old and not a mass-murderer.

"Thasssa lie," Joker protested.

"No, its not. If there is no need for sedatives, they will not be given,"

Joker slumped in his chair, attempting to move despite the straight jacket, "You'd give um anywaaay,"

Hugo Strange folded his hands thoughtfully, "What makes you think that? Do you not trust my staff?"

"No," Joker licked his mouth, swaying slightly again, "Ya do it cause issss fun. I'd like ta do it ta peeeople if I cooould,"

"Where do you think this distrust comes from?" questioned the doctor.

Joker rested his head on the table, "I dunno,"

Dr. Strange paused for a moment to think about his next question. After being the Joker's psychiatrist for the past few months he had learned that the clown was not fragile, not like some of the other patients. Joker handled each and every question Strange asked with carefully fabricated lies and plenty of sarcasm. Hugo Strange knew that there was no need to be tactful with the Joker or the subjects in which he questioned him. However, it was a matter of timing, attempting to catch him off guard.

This appeared to be one of those times. Some of the most revealing thoughts of the clown seemed to appear while he was heavily sedated. That's why Strange made sure that happened more and more often. But nothing was one-hundred percent. In the Joker's drugged state he could slip up and show apart of the man hidden beneath the scars or utter complete nonsense.

"Do you feel you have a need for chaos," the doctor finally spoke.

"I am chaossss," Joker mumbled, face down on the table.

"I see," Hugo pretended to agree, "Is that why you enjoy frightening the other patients and bothering the staff? It's simply your nature,"

"Ex-act-lllly isss my nat-ure,"

Dr. Strange gave an interested nod and began to write the Joker's statements down, "You're making progress Patient four, four, seven, nine, this is good. Does it make you feel better?"

"Nah," the clown raised his head again, "And I'm noooot making any proogressss,"

"You're simply being stubborn. I know you would rather not admit to it; but I believe you and I are getting somewhere. Of course it will take some time but I think I can discover the source of your... mental anguish, if you will,"

Joker laughed a little, his tongue slowly tracing one corner of his mouth, "I'll be outa here looong before that doc. Trusss me," he slurred.

"You have been in Arkham Asylum for two months now, if you were going to escape you would have already," Dr. Strange tapped his pen on the table, "I think you are only telling me this to keep up your reputation, you won't really be escaping,"

"Well I juss haven't decided I wanna leave yet is all. I stayed for siss monssss lass time," Joker said, failing to pronounce 'six', 'months' and 'last' correctly, "And that wasss with a shrink that was puttin' out... not that I'm sssuggesting ya do that,"

"I suppose we shall see how long you'll be staying then," the doctor humored him.

"Yep,"

Dr. Strange thought for a moment, "You were speaking of Dr. Quinzel, I assume, when you said about you shrink, um, 'putting out'," he began, "She is obviously on your mind. Do you think of her often?"

"Only when I'm horny," Joker leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.

"I'm sure you think of her more often than that,"

"Oh yeah, I dooo. I'm horny alot... 'specially iiin here,"

"You spent a considerable amount of time with Dr. Quinzel. Do your thoughts of her ever exist outside of the sexual nature?" asked the doctor.

Joker smirked, "Do ya think I'd tell ya ifff they diiid?"

The sedatives appeared to be wearing of as the Joker was beginning to regain some of his attitude which resided in he and Strange's therapy sessions. The ones he was sober in that is.

Hugo Strange contemplated giving the Joker another dose of seditives, since it had been a few hours since he had any. But the doctor decided against it. He did not want to risk brain damage with this particular patient.

Dr. Strange was never one to be concerned over his patients. In fact, as his career went on he found himself more and more lax. Strange felt it naive to think that any of those crazies could become normal human beings. Still, he found their twisted minds fascinating and had been very pleased when the Joker returned to Arkham Asylum, now under his care. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin all the secrets, locked away onside that deranged clown's head.

"Let's talk about Dr. Quinzel, shall we?" the doctor continued.

Joker shook his head no.

"Why not,"

"Don't wanna," was the clown's short reply.

"I see, is it possible that you feel somewhat guilty for what you did to her?" questioned Hugo.

"....No," Joker rolled his eyes, "Ya know how on cartoons the uh, characters always have an angel or a, a devil on their shoulders,"

Dr. Strange nodded.

"Well I don't have either of em. Everything I do is aaall me. III do it cause IIII want to. No one told me to, not uh, supernatural source or voices in my head or even a talking dog," he licked an unpainted scar, "I uh, like to ex-per-i-ment with caaaause and effect-uh," he smacked his lips after sufficiently licking them, "And I'm neeeever gullty,"

For a moment Strange watched the Joker's "tick" of licking his scars, wondering what caused him to do so, "Then why are you avoiding the subject of Dr. Quinzel?" asked Dr. Strange.

"Fiiirst of all, quit the whole uh, Doctor businessss. It's Haaar-ley. And second of all... there's nothing to say,"

"Of course there is, why the subject is practically infinite," explained Strange, "For example; what caused you to pursue Dr. Quin- I mean Harley,"

Joker giggled, "Have ya ssseen Harley?"

"Besides that Patient four, four, seven, nine. Please try to focus and tell me what first drew you to her?" Dr. Strange watched the clown, pen ready, awaiting an answer.

Joker shrugged, "Random selection," he prodded the inside of his left scar, "I woulda tried it with anybody,"

"And by 'it' you mean...."

"Well, first I tried ta ssscare her," he made an exaggerated 'thinking' face, "I thiiiink I tried ta slit her throat or cut her mouth up... I dunno. Either way I threatened heeer. And theeen I tried a different approach. I got her ta faaall in loooove," Joker smiled.

"What exactly were you trying to accomplish?"

The clowned chuckled, "Ya know what? I dunno," he laughed, "I guess I just wanted ta see what would happen. I kinda like to uh, experiment with people's heads. Ya know, pick em apart... sometimes literally,"

"So," Hugo began writing, "You never intended on Harley getting you out of Arkham?"

"No, I can do that aaaaall by myssself," Joker said proudly, "I just wanted to see what I could make Little Miss Upstanding Citizen dooo. And I got her to do aaaaa lot," he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Why is it that you like to experiment with people?" Dr. Strange asked.

"Why is it that you like to experiment with people?" repeated the clown, turning the question on Hugo Strange.

"I don't,"

"You're doin' it riiight no-ooow," Joker sang.

"Focus and answer my questions, please. I don't want to have to sedate you again,"

Joker sighed, "To spread the good news of ch-aosss,"

"Please elaborate Patient four, four, seven, nine,"

"I like to show people who they really are, the uh, dark, twisted, chaotic side that's iiin ev-ery-one," he looked around the room, "Even you doc," he whispered mockingly.

"I see," Strange decided to ignore the Joker's last statement, knowing it was for attention, "So you wanted to show Harleen Quinzel that she was really Harley Quinn,"

Joker gasped, "Finally, a man that understands meee," he exlaimed in a feminene voice, dramactly flipping his now blond, brown hair.

Again, he simply wanted a reaction from Dr. Strange. Who ignored him. Strange knew all about the clown's childish tendencies by now. He was always trying to get attention. One of the doctor's many theories on why the Joker behaved the way he did was centered around his need for atention. Just like a little boy eating worms so all the other kids in class would laugh or be grossed out, the Joker blew up buildings and committed homocide.

That was just one theory. There were so many things that could contribute to the Joker's sociopathic mindset. Dr. Hugo Strange intended on being the one to discover the root of his problems. He did not care what it took.

* * *

Gordon stepped before Harley Quinn's cell where she had now spent most of the day and all night. Today she had an appointment with the head of Arkham, Dr. Strange and then on the following day she would have her trial.

"You can wear this to court Ms. Quinzel,"

He showed her a charcoal grey jacket with a blue blouse and matching, grey pencil skirt. It had belonged to his wife but she rarely wore it anymore.

Harley looked up the outfit folded in the Commissioner's hands, "Harley," she reminded, "It's not that I, ya know, don't appreciate it but... why are ya bein' so nice ta me?"

"Your clothing is well, not exactly appropriate to wear to court. That's all," Gordon responded in reference to the blood-stained dress she was wearing.

"So," Harley began she looked back down at her legs, picking at her cast, "What do ya think's gonna happen to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ya think I'm goin' ta jail or Arkham?" she asked successfully peeling a strip of pink material of the plaster cast.

"The judge will decide that, I don't think you're insane though," Gordon said, "I know the difference between the criminally insane and..." his voice trailed off.

"Just plain criminals?" Harley spoke up.

The police commissioner nodded, "But I don't think you're a criminal either,"

"Then what am I?"

"I think you're a confused young women who was manipulated by a madman," Gordon answered.

Harley Quinn sighed and pulled herself to her feet, "Ya make it sound so simple Gordon," a defeated look came over her for a moment, "I wish it was that simple. But the truth is; I knew exactly what I was doin'," she carefully made her way closer to the police commissioner, using the bars of her cell for support, "I mean, the first time killing felt, well... necessary, then I just wanted to impress Mr. J... I mean the Joker. And then- well, have you ever killed anyone Commissionah Gordon?"

Gordon thought back to times when he had resorted to using his gun during his time with the Gotham Police Department. It happened, but he had always tried to wound as opposed to killing in hopes that justice would be served through the court system, "No," he finally answer Harley.

"Oh. Well, it's hard to explain. For a while you're terrified and sometimes ya feel ashamed. But after a while all the bad feelings go away and it feels good. I felt empowered and strong. No one can stop you when you're the only person with a gun," she explained, "I spent a long time wondering what the murderer across the table was gonna do ta me during therapy. Joker made that go away, he showed me how ta be the one in charge. Of course I could nevah get the upper hand on him," Harley looked at the floor, "I guess what I'm sayin' is I know that I'm guilty. I don't deserve your pity commisionah,"

"Harley I-"

"Really its my own damn fault don't feel bad for me!" Harley raised her voice, "I- I'm sorry I yelled. I shouldn'ta yelled," she said with a sigh, "I just don't wanna be reminded of what happened ta me. But you ain't so bad Commish," Harley tried to smile, "Sorry I helped gas ya police station,"

Gordon had to smile at the child-like innocence that surrounded Harley, despite the fact that she was a murderer. Harley Quinn was a number of contridictions, "That's okay Harley,"

* * *

_I apologize if there a mistakes, I'm not sure if this has been proof read and I'm running on like four hours sleep so my judgement is bad. Lemme know if its full of fail._

_I did some flash backs incase any of you didn't read Slow Burn, that's what the italics were. _

_There was some guy that claimed his dog told him to murder specific people. I forget what his name was._

_I hope this wasn't a boring chapter since Joker is back in an Asylum setting. That limits things a little bit. But thankfully there is The Joker Blogs, which is a helpful source of inspiration if you are writing a therapy scene._

_I read this amazing fanfiction call The Land of Nod. If you haven't already read it then read it after this. It's incredible. Anyway it called to my attention what a paradox the Harley Quinn character is. Everything she does contradicts itself. I had to put that in here._

_I started a blogspot, mostly art stuff if anyone's interested in checking it out: http:// www . madi-artblog . blogspot . com/_


	3. Sleepy Hollow

_I apologize for not posting on Saturday, I was at a music festival all day and then Sunday I became dead to the world with exhaustion and dehydration. And to make matters worse the band I went to the festival to see didn't even show. :(_

_I also wanna say I'm sorry for yet another filler chapter. This story will get better, trust me._

* * *

The next few hours Harley spent in court were in a word; chaotic. She was asked an endless stream of questions, most of them ones Commissioner Gordon had already asked her. Though this time they were full of accusations from the district attorney defended the city of Gotham. But Harley did her best not to cry, despite the fact she felt as though she was being scolded. She had never gotten in trouble before, Harleen Quinzel was a good little girl.

"Did you plan any of the Joker's attacks on Gotham and its citizens?" the lawyer asked.

He was a man, mid to late thirties with greying hair and piercing eyes. The aura of authority that surrounded him frightened Harley somewhat as she sat in front several faces, including her mob lawyer's; who failed to adequately defend her. She wanted to feel secure, she found herself longing for something to cling to; or maybe someone.

"The Joker doesn't make plans," she said quietly in response to the lawyer's question.

"That is not what I asked Ms. Quinzel. I'm asking if you planned anything. Such as..." he glanced quickly through a file, "The attack on the Gotham City Police department or the deaths in the palisades?"

"I just did what he told me to," Harley whimpered.

She had been in a court room a few times before, once for jury duty the other times were in college. Working with the criminally insane often meant testifying in court. She had been exposed to real trials to get a feel for what it would be like. At the time it was exciting and inspiring. Harley remembered sitting in the court room, butterflies in her stomach and a new passion for the work she would do in the future. Today she was feeling something else entirely. The tall wood doors, the bright flags and the sound of the judge's gavel made her want to curl up in a ball and hide from the world instead of embrace it.

Harley could not decide exactly what was making her so frightened and uncomfortable. After all there were a number of things that would logically do so.

Jail was of course a scary prospect, as was Arkham Asylum. The accusing faces that know watched her every move made her feel more guilty than ever. But the worst thing about the whole situation was that they kept mentioning him. The Joker. With every question the stern lawyer asked Harley was reminded of the pain and suffering she had experienced with him. They were reminders of lies, sleepless nights and being used.

"Please Ms. Quinzel just answer the question," Harley was startled from her thoughts by the judge at his seat beside her.

He seemed so familiar as Harley quickly glanced in the judges direction. She could have sworn he was one of the men at the strip club so many nights ago. When she performed like a marionette for her puppeteer; the Joker. Harley she was to distraught with her current predicament to be bothered by the hypocrisy that was Gotham City.

"No. I planned to break him out of Arkham and that was all," she explained.

Tears spilled from Harley's eyes. Memories of the night they escaped flooded back to her mind, all to vividly. He was so drugged and sleepy, it was a side of the Clown Prince of Crime no one ever saw. Except Harley. She had kissed him awake, gentle and slow like some sort of reversed fairy tale and for probably the only time in her life things seemed perfect. At that moment she believed in love, and she believed he cared about her. Harley was so naive then.

But once he was completely awake, he was the Joker again. Pulling her close and kissing her with more intensity than anyone ever could. He was masculine and wild and nothing short of amazing to a twenty-something who had never found "the one". She would have done anything for him and she did. That was the first night she killed. With each new murder she committed or watched Joker commit, the image of the guard she shot faded from her mind though. She remembered everything else about that night. It played in her head like a movie, rewound over and over again, except Shane's death.

"I believe we've heard enough. Thank you Ms. Quinzel," the lawyer told Harley before turning to the judge, "Your Honor," he began, "As you can clearly see Mr. Quinzel admits to several illegal acts as well as having a relationship with her patient and known criminal; the Joker,"

"If I may add, we all know this was never a question of whether or not my client is guilty. Its a question of her sentence," Harley's lawyer added, exhaustion and frustration in his voice.

Harley thought that it must have been hard defending someone you knew was going to lose. Or maybe even someone you wanted to lose. After all, it seemed as though everyone was against her and she could not blame them.

"I would like to call Dr. Hugo Strange to the stand to discuss my client's mental state in relation to her crimes,"

Harley sat beside the mob lawyer, watching Strange approached the front of the court room and took the oath to be truthful. She had spoke to Dr. Strange the day before when he had psycho-analysed her. There was something about him that Harley could not trust. Of course, these days Harley didn't feel that she could trust anyone.

The doctor had only spoke to her briefly. Asked her questions mostly about Joker and their relationship, then ended their session.

"Ms. Quinzel and myself met yesterday and in my professional opinion I would say that Ms. Quinzel is not well. I do not believe she should spend her sentence in prison but in my asylum where she can receive the treatment she needs," he spoke slowly and carefully.

"Objection," the DA said, "Harleen Quinzel knew exactly what she was doing was wrong. It was her job to deal with people who had committed the very same crimes. She had to know she was wrong, a criminally insane person does not,"

"My client went through severe mental trauma while in the company of the Joker. I think it's safe to say that the difference between right and wrong begins to dissolve to a person in that situation," argued Harley's lawyer, "Am I correct Dr. Strange?"

"Yes. I gathered from my session with Ms. Quinzel that she shares views on society and human nature with her former lover. It seems to me she may have been brain washed for her views to so closely mirror the Joker's,"

The DA stood once again, "Even if that's the case, Your Honor," he said to the judge, "The murders she committed are no less atrocious,"

"Everyone knows that and she will be punished," the judge retorted, "Sit back down,"

"I believe treatment and punishment are to different things," he sat back down as the judge ordered, "I feel very sorry for Ms. Quinzel but I also feel sorry for the families who lost loved ones because of her. I feel sorry for the citizens of Gotham who have to live in fear. I-" the judge stopped him.

"I've heard enough," the judge told the district attorney.

The DA was obviously trying to get Harley a jail sentence. She could not be mad at him for that, she knew more than anyone how guilty she was.

"Is there anything you would like to say Ms. Quinzel," the judge was looking at her now.

Everyone in the room seemed to turn to her, instead of pretend as if she was not in the room. Harley preferred to be ignored right now. She bit her lip and shook her head no, wiping her sweaty palms on the borrowed pencil skirt she was wearing.

"In that case I have made a decision," the judge sat forward, "Harleen Quinzel, you are sentenced to Arkham Asylum until cured of your mental illness,"

Harley nodded obediently unsure of how else to respond.

And that was it. The trial was over, she was going to Arkham Asylum. It was surreal as she walked out of the court room and was greeted by dozens of reporters. Cameras flashed and several microphones were held before her as she made her way outside, guarded of course. Two armed police officers stood on either side of her, making sure she did not escape.

Harley had no need to run away. She didn't feel as though she needed or wanted the outside world. She felt that she would have been better off killed by the Joker. She didn't think there wasn't much use in trying to live without him.

Harley climbed into a police car shortly after leaving the courthouse. She would spend one more day in jail so that Arkham Asylum could prepare for her arrival. Harley knew what to expect of Arkham and at the same time she didn't. Despite her short-lived career as a psychiatrist, she still did not know everything about the asylum she had once worked in, like how it felt to be an inmate.

* * *

"Thank you Your Honor," Strange scribbled his signiture across a check, "You made a wise descision,"

"Yes, well, I'm sure she had to be at least a little bit crazy... I mean look at her choice in men," the judge took Dr. Strange's check, making sure no one saw, "May I ask you something doctor," his voice echoed slightly in the empty courtroom.

"You may,"

"Why'd you want Quinzel so badly?" he asked.

"Well I think its obvious, Ms. Quinzel has no doubt spent more time with the Joker than anyone. Imagine the knowledge she possesses on his psyche,"

"I'm no psychiatrist but I judged the Joker's trial, I would say the clown is beyond any hope of sanity," remarked the judge.

"Oh, of course," Hugo Strange quickly agreed, "Truthfully most of my patients are, but to be able to discover what makes that man the Joker... It's an incredible thing to imagine,"

The judge shook his head, "I wouldn't know much about that. Personally I think everyone would be better off if that whack job got the chair," he laughed slightly, "But," he sighed, "It's nuts like him that pay the bills and a little extra," he placed the bribe carefully into his wallet, "So you think his girl will talk?"

"I certainly hope so," Strange and the judge made their way to the exit, "And if not; Harleen Quinzel will make a wonderful specimen on love and forgiveness and so on,"

The judge nodded, "Nice to see my tax dollars are going to good use,"

* * *

Dr. Strange had gave Joker the "privilege" of rec room time, like Harley had in her psychiatric days. Joker could not fathom why doctors kept doing that to him. He was not exactly safe and well-behaved.

He decided that it must have been some sick punishment. It had to be. The recreation room was the worst thing about Arkham (other than the food). It reminded Joker of some sort of demented daycare. The walls were pale yellow and stained with unknown substances. The television which was mounted high out of reached played non-stop Dora the Explorer and Yo Gabba Gabba. Ripped up coloring books with all the pages scribbled on lay hear and there, accompanied by stubby crayons to dull to do any damage. Even with a professional like Joker handling them.

He sat on the floor leaning up against one of the dirty cement walls contimplating on whether hitting his head against it would kill him. It would at least knock him out, but that was only temporary relief from the horrible boredom.

"Can you help me find the blue bridge?" the cartoon character's voice echoed through the room, "Where's the blue bridge?"

"I dunno, you're the explorer. How the hell am I supposed ta know?" Joker yelled back.

"Is there a problem Patient four, four, seven, nine?" a nurse sighed.

"Nooo," Joker groaned, twisting his hair around one finger.

It was blond again, he hated it that way. All the lovely Manic Panic Green Envy had either washed or grown out and was replaced with dark blond and brown locks.

It was just so common. And of all the hair colors possibly the most innocent. Worst of all, with regular bathing his hair had more curl to it. Blond and curly, just like half the depictions of an angels ever illustrated. It didn't suit the Joker at all. He imagined as a kid, great aunts he barely new petted it just after pinching his cheeks and told him what pretty hair he had. Not that he really remembered anything.

Joker quickly distracted his wondering mind with something else. He decided a while ago that there was no use trying to reminisce about a past he could not remember. Even if he could recall the events of his childhood or even young adulthood (depending on how old he actually was); there was no point in it. That part of his life was over, done with and the only thing he had left to focus on was now. And now he was in a crappy rec room.

Just then the door opened and in came Jonathan Crane, led by a guard of course. He sat down on the lumpy couch in the center of the room, a pouting look on his face. Jonny was obviously unhappy with rec room privileges, like Joker was at the time. As the clown watched Jonny for a moment he noticed the former doctor was tightly wrapped in a straight jacket. Seeing this as a possible source of entertainment he made his way over.

"Hiya Jonny," he greeted climbing over the back of the couch and plopping down beside him.

"Hello," Jonathan grumbled a reply, still staring ahead.

"Whatsss with the straight jacket?" Joker asked, poking the stiff material a few times.

It was not like Jonathan Crane to get in trouble, at least not enough to earn any restraints. As opposed to Joker who saw the jackets as a sort of reward for bad behavior. He knew he was still Joker and still untrustworthy if he was strapped into one of those.

"If you must know," he sighed a reply, "Some of my medication may cause seizures. I am wearing this so I do not hurt any patients if I have one," he explained slowly and calmly.

Joker found Jonny's voice interesting, no matter what was happening the man usually kept his tone of voice at the same calm and collected level. He spoke carefully as well, making sure to say every word correctly and clearly. It was a major contrast to the way Joker spoke.

What was even more intriguing was the way his voice changed when Scarecrow was about. From the same body came to different minds and the difference was significant. The Scarecrow sounded tougher, probably because the alter ego thought he was invincible. As he had been a little to bold for Joker's liking. He preferred respect from his fellow criminals. But despite all that, Joker still made and effort to be friendly with Jonny.

"So um, other than uh, seizures how have ya been?" he asked politely as possible.

"Terrible," Jonathan replied negatively, yet still detached from emotion.

Another funny thing about Jonny; how expressionless he tended to be. Joker had only gotten a rise out of him a few times. Even then it wasn't much. He imagined Scarecrow was more animated. Joker liked that; even if Jonny's other half was a cocky bastard.

"What's so terrible?" the clown questioned as if it wasn't obvious.

"Everything," Jonathan replied, "The new management, the medication, the therapy… my nightmares-" Joker interrupted him.

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes, frequently. They're caused by brain damage from being left untreated from my fear toxin… twice,"

"Yeeeah, that was an accident ya know," Joker explained though that could hardly be called an accident.

Jonathan Crane was not completely aware of what happened before getting a dose of toxin directly into his respiratory system, Scarecrow had been in control at the time. But the cowardly alter ego fled just in time for the Joker to force feed him the nasty hallucinogen.

Jonny decided no to argue the Joker's pathetic excuse. He had far too much common sense and no death wish. Instead he began to focus his attention on the coffee table before him. Scattered across it were several crossword puzzles, coloring books, magazines, a few classic pieces of fiction. He had read them hundreds of times it seemed but it was the only intelligent entertainment in the room. The only thing that kept his brilliant mind from turning to mush and dripping out his ears, problem was; reading in a straight jacket was basically an impossible feat.

"Um. Nurse?" he called across the room, "Excuse me? Nurse,"

She could not hear him. She was now sitting behind a few protective glass windows; doing paperwork and typing away at the computer.

"Ya been in here long?" Joker was obviously attempting another conversation.

"Since your little accident," he sighed, "Nurse?" he tried again.

"Why do ya want the nurse? Are ya gonna have a seizure?"

Jonathan glanced at Joker for the first time since he'd sat down. The clown sounded a bit too eager when he asked about his seizures.

"No. I just wanted to read something and I can't with my arms restrained," he tilted his head against the back of the couch and began to count ceiling tiles, "Oh well, it's not like she would stop her 'important nurse duties' to come hold a book in front of my face,"

Joker clicked his tongue absentmindedly, "I could do that,"

"No I'm fine," argued Jonathan.

"No, I'm gonna. It'll make up for ya know, the accident," he air quoted "accident". "Sooo," he searched through the pile of reading material, "What do ya wanna read?"

"I don't know," Jonathan sighed, hoping that if he waited long enough something else would get the clowns attention.

Joker tossed the books he wasn't interested in casually aside, letting them fall to the floor on bent pages. Until he picked up a magazine with a pink cover. After taking a moment to examine Lauren Conrad's possibly duct-taped cleavage he read, "Naughty questions and answers," Joker proclaimed with a smirk across his scarred face, "You on top! The fierce new secret to success," he burst into a fit of giggles, "Let's read this one,"

"No," Jonathan protested with some disgust, he wasn't even sure why an asylum rec room had Cosmopolitan.

"Weeell you aren't making any sug-jest-ions Jon-nnny," Joker sang, "You leave me no choice but ta pick for you,"

Jonny groaned, "Fine. I want... Sleepy Hollow,"

Joker reluctantly sat the women's magazine back down and picked up a half-torn, paper-back copy of Sleepy Hollow. He opened it up to the first page and shifted into a spot where he could comfortable display the book. Much to Jonathan's dismay that place was very, very close to him. Joker's arm rested on the couch behind Jonathan's shoulders while the other held the book near his face.

"Can ya see it okay?" Joker asked, Jonathan felt his face uncomfortably near his own.

"Yes,"

Joker smiled and remained quiet for the former doctor to get through three pages. But it wasn't long before the clown began to grow bored.

He sighed a few times, clicked his tongue, licked his scars and hummed for a few moments, trying to find ways to occupy his wandering mind like a child with ADD, "Sooooo we're friends now?"

"I wouldn;t say that,"

Joker ruffled his hair with his free hand, "Aww come on Jonny. Doesn't God want us to uh, forgive others live we... um forgive... ourselves er something like that,"

Crane sighed, "It's love your neihbor as yourself," he corrected.

"Yeah, whatever, you still going ta hell cos' ya won't forgive me," Joker informed Jonathan.

"Joker you're going to hell too,"

The clown sounded shocked, "Well! I guess I'll just take my book holding skills elsewhere. And tell your mouthy, little scarecrow friend that straw burns really easily. You two have fun with Beelzebub!" Joker slammed Sleepy Hollow shut and began to storm off.

"Joker wait. I forgive you. We're friends," Jonny said flatly.

"Good, cos' I can't stay mad at you," Joker sat back down, "Its those eyes, their so pretty and blue. I just wanna pop em' out of their sockets ans keep in a jar," he smacked his lips.

Jonathan Crane nodded, thoroughly disturbed.

"No I mean they are real-ly blue. Like unnaturally blue,"

"Thanks... I suppose," he responded.

"Yeeeah," Joker examined him, "You're welcome,"

* * *

_I had to suffer many little kid shows since my brothers are much younger than me and were watching them in my teens. Blah. I really hate Dora. I don't get her. Why is she asking kids for info if she's the EXPLORA. Dammit. As for Yo Gabba Gabba its not to bad. Just mildly disturbing in a good sorta way. But I'm ranting, I should talk about something more relevant to this chapter._

_Manic Panic hair dyes seemed appropriate for the Joker to use, considering the title._

_I had been at Target the day I wrote this and waited in a very long checkout line being force to stare at their magazine stands. Cosmopolitan was one of em' with Lauren Conrad on the cover. I kept thinking her boobs looked duct-taped. I could be wrong though. And yes those fail headlines are real. _

_Beelzebub is Satan, in case you didn't know. I find that name kinda funny... dunno why. I guess that's disturbing..._


	4. Introductions

"Orange in the day, grey at night," a nurse had instructed Harley.

She changed into the orange, Arkham uniform since it was only eight o'clock in the morning. After she was dressed the nurse sat a tray on her bed. It appeared to be carrying a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice and toast.

"Breakfast is at eight, you have to eat it in your cell today. Maybe after therapy Dr. Strange will give you cafeteria privileges," the nurse explained as Harley sat down before the pale mush in a bowl, "You'll have a therapy session in about two hours, then in another two hours you'll have lunch. Depending on your behavior; rec room time, then dinner, then showers, meds, then bed. That's usually the schedule we try to keep," the nurse added.

Harley noticed the nurse was visibly uncomfortable, despite the orderly's attempt to be friendly. Every so often she would glance at the guard standing just outside the door in case anything went wrong. The nurse would try to focus her attention back on to Harley, accidentally staring at her stitches and then avoided looking directly at her all together. But Harley supposed she would have to learn to expect that sort of reaction with people. It did not bother her much. After all, the facial injuries were successful at frightening others away. And all Harley really wanted right now was to be left alone.

"Okay so, I need to ask you a few questions Ms. Quinzel," she began to examine a clipboard.

Harley recognized that it was most likely a form for her file. It would be a bit of an introduction on Harley that Dr. Strange would look over before therapy.

"You can start off by writing that I don't like to be called Ms. Quinzel," she said pushing her soggy cereal around with a spoon, "My name is Harley,"

"Alright," the nurse scribbled a few notes down onto her form, "Do you have any allergies Harley? To food, medication, anything?"

"Nope,"

"Were you on any medication before coming to Arkham? Not including what the hospital gave you, though, we have that documented already,"

Harley shook her head 'no'.

"Any illegal drugs?" was the next question.

"No,"

"I assume you are not addicted to anything then," said the nurse.

"Uh-uh," replied Harley swirling the orange juice around in its cup.

"Any diseases?"

"Not that I know of,"

"Well," the nurse began, "That's all I needed to know. I'll come back and pick your tray up when you're done with it," she informed as she turned to go, eager to leave the cell.

"I am done with it," Harley held it out towards her.

The nurse paused before saying, "I'll allow it this once, but you really should try to eat what your given. You don't want an IV do you?" the nurse accepted the tray of uneaten breakfast.

Harley didn't answer, instead she lay down on her stiff mattress. She faced the wall until she heard the metallic click of the orderly leaving and Harley's cell door locking. After that she sat up and looked around the little room. It was amazing how fast claustrophobia seemed to set in. Harley never battled with a fear of small spaces before, but suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe.

She lay back down on the stiff mattress and stared at the ceiling, hoping it would distract her from the four walls closing in.

This is where she would stay until she was cured. She had a feeling that was going to be a long time. Harley, having a vast knowledge of the human mind tried to diagnose herself. But it seemed as though she could not recall everything she had worked so hard to learn in college. All of it was gone, erased from her mind with all remnants of Harleen Quinzel and her former life. Funny thing was, Harley Quinn, spunky and loud didn't seem to show much anymore either. So who did that make her now? She didn't really know.

Her hand made its way up to her stitched mouth as her mind wandered, pondering exactly what was wrong with her. The stitches itched so badly, they were ready to come out soon. The flesh beneath them had healed back together and now rejected the black wires weaving in and out of it. Gently, she plucked at one stitch, trying to relieve her discomfort without removing it completely.

Harley pulled just a bit to hard and drew blood. She quickly wiped the little droplets of blood onto her Arkham uniform. She did not want to see them. Her own blood had never bothered her, until the last night she had spent with the Joker. There was so much of it then. And the scariest part of the whole ordeal was how it felt as her life force steadily ran from her veins.

Harley would never forget that feeling as she slipped into blackness, assuming death waited on the otherside. But instead it was a sterile white hospital room.

She recalled a nurse was there when she came to. A younger women in mint green scrubs had been changing an IV by her bedside. Without a word to Harley she called the doctor to inform him that the patient was conscious. Then the nurse exited the room with hast, leaving Harley all alone and very confused. She did not know what had happened or why she was here or why everything hurt so badly. It was not until the doctor made his appearance that Harley's questions were answered. In retrospect she could have done without the bad news and simply stayed in confusion for a while longer.

Harley pulled the sheets over herself, she never remembered Arkham feeling so cold and damp when she worked there. It must have been her nerves. The bed sheets, of course, were uncomfortable but kept her slightly warmer. Exhausted from the stressful past few days Harley fell asleep.

* * *

"If you sleep during the day you won't be able to sleep at night," a voice woke Harley.

It was that nurse again. Harley wondered why this lady was acting like her mother. This was Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane, why should she care about Harley's eating and sleeping habits.

The woman looked about her mother's age, in fact. The name tag on her lilac scrubs read Karen and beneath her name said that she was head of the woman's ward.

"Are you feeling depressed? Is that why you're sleeping?" she asked.

Harley shrugged.

"Be sure to tell Dr. Strange that," she instructed, "It's time for therapy now,"

A guard who had been standing behind Karen produced a pair of handcuffs for Harley's wrists.

No straight jacket of ankle restraints, obviously they did not expect her to run. She had not planned on it anyway, Harley had no where to go.

Her therapy session was on the second floor of the asylum. A short elevator ride with the guard and Karen led her directly to Dr. Strange, who was waiting for her in one of the therapy rooms.

"Good morning doctor," the nurse greeted as the guard led Harley inside.

"Good morning," he responded to her, "And how is Ms. Quinzel?" he asked looking towards Harley.

She sat down across the table from him before the orderlies left the room, "My paperwork should say I wanna be called Harley," she said, getting a little tired of telling people that.

Dr. Strange seemed to consider her words, "I like to keep things professional here at Arkham Asylum, but I suppose I could make an exception this one time. If you agree to cooperate and answer all my questions I will address you as Harley. Do we have an agreement?"

"Sure,"

"Alright. While we're on the subject; let's begin with your name. Why is it that you insist on being called Harley when your birth name is Harleen Quinzel?" the doctor began.

Harley shrugged one shoulder listlessly.

"Does it remind you of your past. Perhaps your childhood where you felt more comfortable or safe. Or did someone special refer to you as Harley, your mom, your dad, a good friend... the Joker maybe?"

"Yeah, he did," answered Harley.

"I see. So by being called 'Harley' you feel a sense of familiarity. It reminds you of times when you felt happy," expounded Strange.

"No, I'm just not Dr. Quinzel anymore," she replied quietly, "I don't remember so much good times with Joker anymore. The bad ones sorta outweigh em,"

Hugo Strange nodded and wrote a few notes in a thick new notepad, "Let's talk about the Joker for a moment," he adjusted his reading glasses to better view the notes, "What first drew you to the Joker?"

"Whatdaya mean?"

"I mean, when did you first realize your feelings for him?"

"I dunno, I kinda felt bad for him when I was his therapist. He told me how he got his scars, made me feel a little sorry for him," explained Harley.

Hugo Strange became more interested at the mention of the Joker's trademark facial scarring. Though he knew the clown had a tendency to lie about them he wondered if Harley possibly knew the real story. After all, the Joker had kept her alive all those months, he obviously saw her differently then his other victims.

"What was the Joker's story exactly?" he asked.

"It's probably a lie, he does that. Besides ain't this supposed ta be about me?"

"Of course it is Harley," Strange assured her, "But the Joker played a very large role in your life over the past several months, we will talk about him often in therapy,"

"Well, it started when he was a kid I guess. His parents and other kids he knew treated him real bad. I guess he was a masochist or somethin' he cut his mouth open as like some emo way ta commit suicide. He didn't count on living through it or anything, 'least I don't think so," Harley told the story, but with less detail and drama as Joker did.

In reality Harley could remember every line of that story. And the way he told it, so close to her. At the time, He was so terrifying in some sick, wonderful way that she would never admit to. She would soon learn in the months to come that the Joker was nothing to be romanticized.

"But you don't believe that story to be true?" Dr. Strange broke her thoughts.

"No,"

"When did he share this story with you?"

"Right away. Maybe our second or third session," Harley could not recall exactly, the few therapy sessions they had blended together with the chaos that was the Joker.

"Tell me Harley, did he ever show a significant interest in you?" asked Dr. Strange continuing to record one of Joker's scar stories in the notebook.

She nodded a response, "He kissed me after the story,"

"Very interesting," Strange finally looked up from his writing, "Did he ever express that he loved you, with words or actions or both?"

Harley sighed, "The Joker never loved me,"

* * *

"I never loved her," Joker rolled his eyes at Jonathan.

Joker and Jonathan had ended up in the rec room together again. Crane had been hoping the previous day was a one time thing for the clown, because really, who in there right mind was letting him out of his cage and around others? He thought yesterday had to be some sort of mistake, now he found it was apparently some sort of punishment for him.

"Well you had sex with her didn't you?" asked Jonny.

"Oooh yeah. Sev-er-al times,"

Joker was yet again holding a book for Jonathan since he was incapacitated by a straight jacket. Today the reading material was The Scarlet Letter, not exactly Jonathan Crane's taste but something he picked at random knowing that he would get no reading done with Joker around.

Jonathan cringed slightly at Joker's last statement, he wished the Joker had some tact, "So you were just taking advantage of her?"

"We were taking advantage of each-o-ther," the clown corrected, "Are you done with this page yet," Joker waved the book around.

"Yes," Jonathan lied, he hadn't read a single word.

If anything came out of these awful hours spent with the Joker was the satisfaction that he; (former) Dr. Crane was possibly getting Joker to speak more than any doctor in Arkham. Sure it was not quite as formal as a real therapy session, but Crane was definitely getting him to talk. He decided that maybe just maybe it would not be a total tragedy that he and Joker were now "friends".

"You said you were taking advantage of eachother, I fail to see what Harley was gaining," he stated to Joker.

"Harley got the life of adventure and uh, lust she always wanted... but never ad-mit to," was Jokers simple reply.

The clown seemed to have an answer for everything. Jonathan wondered if he planned these quick answers for people, ones that always supported his theories on the self-centeredness of humanity.

Crane nodded thoughtfully, "So you think you helped Harley?"

"Yeah. I mean, you should know how it feels to let go and become whoever has lurked in you're deepest, darkest desires Jonny,"

"I suppose so,"

Jonathan was not sure he saw things quite the same way Joker did. He was not positive that Scarecrow was the result of some kind of repressed evil in him and that it was human nature to release that monster; as Joker had just insinuated. Jonathan Crane knew to much about the human mind and deduced that Scarecrow was a coping method for him. But Joker certainly believed that he was truly the Joker, and whoever he had been before the clown make-up had died. Even Jonathan had to admit that he was convincing. Sociopaths tended to be charming like that and able to talk people into things.

"Are ya done with this page yet?" Joker questioned with a little less patience.

"Actually I think I'm done reading for now. Thanks,"

Joker tossed the book back onto the coffee table. But much to Crane's dismay he did not move any further from the close proximity needed for holding the book. The clown remained unbearably close.

"Can we talk about you and Harley more?" Jonathan asked.

"Why?"

"Well, the truth is; I miss her... do you?"

Jonny lied to cover up the fact that he was working on a breakthrough in the Joker's psyche. He did feel a little sad for Harley, but not enough to try and have a real heart to heart with her murderous ex-boyfriend.

Joker paused for a while, Jonathan actually began to expect a complicated and revealing answer as to why Joker is Joker. But instead it was a short, "No,"

"Not at all?"

"Uh-uh. I don't like bein' tied down," Joker began poking the inside of his scars with his tongue.

"You murder and steal daily... why didn't you just, you know, cheat on her?" Jonny asked for lack of a more sophisticated term.

"I did," the clown nodded.

Jonathan was confused now, "But that does not make sense; you just said you didn't want to be tied- never mind," he sighed thinking of a few more questions, "Before, you had said you and Harley took advantage of each other,"

"Yep,"

"Do you take that approach with every relationship? You only have them to somehow benefit?" he questioned.

"Ev-er-y-one does that," the clown rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps," the former doctor began, "But not consciously. Do you consistently and consciously use relationships for your own gain Joker?"

"Maaay-be," he sighed.

* * *

Harley was determined not to cry. At least not in front of any Arkham employees caring for her, especially Dr. Strange. But she did not know how much more of this Joker talk she could take without having a breakdown, and it had only just began.

"Please stop," she cried out angrily when Strange asked several more Joker related questions.

"I'm sorry Harley but these sessions are mandatory. Arkham Asylum is a place for you to heal but it is also punishment for your crimes,"

"Not the therapy session," Harley's eyes blurred with tears, "All this Joker talk, can we not talk about him?"

"Alright. But just for today. I cannot guarantee that I will never bring him up again," he replied as he wrote a few notes.

Dr. Strange decided to take the therapeutic process somewhat slower for Harley, at least for the time being.

He noted Harley's quick change in mood, her tone with him transformed very quickly after she felt Joker had been spoken of enough. The doctor considered this to be a milder form of bipolar disorder. It was a logical diagnoses considering the sickness can be caused by stressful events and Harley had certainly had her share of them. She would require to kinds of drugs for her highs and lows, her bouts of depression and anger.

Strange also began to consider a dependent personality disorder that had begin to form while Harley lived with Joker.

"Do you have trouble sleeping at night Harley?" the doctor finally asked another question after a long period of silence.

"I have nightmares," she replied.

The doctor nodded, "As I expected," he spoke to no one in particular, "Harley I am putting you in Lithium, anti-depressants and a mild sedative before bedtime. I also suggest as much social interaction as the Asylum provides. Understood?"

Harley nodded, agreeing without a word.

"Your prescriptions will be filled in a few days," Dr. Strange glanced at his watch, "Now if you'll excuse me; I have another session very soon,"

Another guard came to take Harley back to her cell, along with Karen.

* * *

"Hellllooo," Joker purred as Strange sat down across the table from him.

"Hello," he replied preparing his notebook, "You seem to be in a good mood,"

"Mmm hm. I made a friend,"

"Really. And who might this friend be Patient four, four, seven, nine?" asked the doctor.

Joker smacked his lips and leaned forward in his chair, "I know I've uh, probably asked this beeefore but-uh why do ya call me that? It's a lit-tle long if ya ask me... I mean, Joker is well less of a mouth full,"

"Yes, you have asked me this before and I'll give you the same reply; Joker is not your name,"

"Neither is Patient four, four, seven, nine," Joker argued.

"No it is not," Strange agreed, "It is however the title you have been given until you tell us your birth name," he explained, "Now then, where were we; your new found friend?"

The clown sat back, swiftly licking his top lip, "Jonny Crane,"

Dr. Strange took a moment to scribble a few notes, "I see and how did this relationship come about?"

"I'm a people person really... it's everybody else that uh just won't get ta know me," he shrugged a reply.

"But Mr. Crane is getting to know you?"

"Yeeaah, we talk alot in that dirty little rec room of your's,"

"Excellent," murmured Dr, Strange, ignoring the rec room comment and taking notes, "Since you are in such a pleasant mood today; is there anything you would like to share?"

Joker smirked, "Like what? My name, my age, my parents... my scars-uh?" he made a popping sound with his mouth.

"anything you feel comfortable with,"

The clown poked the inside of his mutilated cheek with his tongue in thought, "None of the above,"

Strange should have expected that, "Is there anything that would make you comfortable with sharing with me?"

"Pro-bab-ly not... but it couldn't hurt to try. Could it?"

"Is there anything in particular that you want?" questioned the doctor.

"A pony maybe," he smiled, "Always did want one when I was little,"

"Try to be serious Patient four, four, seven, nine," said Hugo Strange.

"Call me Joker," he suggested.

"I won't do that," Strange shook his head, "I can get you privileges around the asylum,"

"I got enough of those... unless we're talkin' key cards and extra pudding cups on Fridays,"

"I'm afraid not,"

"Then I guess you're not getting anyway eh Doc?"

* * *

_I am not a doctor, obviously. I'm making an attempt to diagnose these characters with my small amount of education on psychology. Don't be pissed if you disagree with my diagnoses._

_Again, Jonny trying to psychoanalyze though his licence as long been revoked. I see that character as doing that sort of thing quite often. Buuut perhaps Jonathan and Joker's relationship will be taking a different turn in the near future, hmmmm. Review and lemme know how you feel about it._

_Sorry this was a little late, technical difficulties would not let me log in. :C_


	5. Bribery

Dr. Strange had instructed Harley to make new friends and take advantage of social situations. But not until her medication was ready and she was feeling a bit more 'evened out'. So that meant another breakfast in bed served by Karen the next morning.

This morning breakfast came in the form of scrambled eggs. Though it somehow resembled the cereal, mushy and pale. Harley managed to eat the toast that came on the side and half of the orange juice before Karen came back to pick up her tray. The nurse was sure to lecture Harley about not eating, but did not make her do anything. Harley found that the nurse was all talk, since she had not finished any of her Arkham meals. Not just because they were unappealing and somewhat tasteless, Harley just did not feel like eating.

Karen sighed and accepted the tray. Harley felt a little frusterated she was forced to be around the only nurse in the whole asylum that gave a damn. Just that little sigh of disaproval made her want to scream.

* * *

"You're not my therapist, I certainly hope there is a good reason for seeing you and at such an inconvenient hour," Jonathan said haughtily as he sat across from Dr. Strange.

"My apologies Mr. Crane,"

"Doctor," he corrected, "It's Dr. Crane, I may have lost my licence to practice but I still earned my PhD. Do not patronize me,"

"Again, my apologies," Dr, Strange said.

"Why aren't I seeing Dr. Rowe today?" Crane questioned about his usual doctor.

"I am taking over as your therapist Dr. Crane," Hugo Strange replied in a somewhat condensing manner.

"And why is that?"

"He simply does not wish to go any further with you, not when you aren't making progress," explained the other doctor.

"I had no problems with my therapist Dr. Strange," Jonathan spoke calmly despite his anger.

"Apparently you are mistaken sir," Hugo took notes.

Jonathan hated going to therapy. At first He certainly could not deny that he was in need of psychiatric help, but not anymore. He believed he had just experienced a stress-related break down and if he just took medication for his hallucinations he could return to work as a doctor. Of course this was impossible due to his growing criminal record, but Crane made excuses for that as well. The way he saw it was if he had been allowed to return to his Asylum as a therapist he could maintain a normal lifestyle. Instead they labeled him with a personality disorder and caged him in like the rest of the mentally unstable.

Narcissistic personality disorder, his diagnoses, he knew it well. Patients often view themselves as more important than everyone else, lacking in empathy, craves power and admiration and is caused by wither excessive praise of criticism as a child. What puzzled Jonathan the most is why he was even here since his supposed personality disorder was caused by a personality trait and not chemical imbalance, it could not be successfully treated with therapy.

"We should begin," Hugo glanced at his watch.

Crane rolled his eyes, "Really? I assumed you wanted to waste ten more minutes of my time with another staring contest,"

"Are you often sarcastic?"

"I don't know," replied Jonathan on disgust.

"Perhaps your lack of respect results in the sort of company you keep? The Joker maybe?" asked Dr. Strange.

"I don't keep that sort of company, the clown pesters me in the rec room and that's all,"

"Patient four, four, seven, nine has told me differently Dr. Crane," Strange argued.

"Well keep in mind he is a sociopath,"

"I suppose," began Strange, "you are correct about that. But you have had some form of relationship with Patient four, four, seven, nine. After all, you stayed with he and Ms. Quinzel for quite sometime, something that is proved true," he tapped his pen against the metal table, "Tell me more about your... acquaintance,"

"Quiet frankly Doctor I fail to see how this effects my mental state," Jonathan was suspicious.

"Oh but it does. You of all people should know, Dr. Crane, that sociopaths are very influential. It is not uncommon for them to manipulate others especially other patients,"

"I knew that. Do not treat me like a child," Jonathan snapped.

"I'm not Jonathan Crane I'm treating you like a patient. Which is what you are," he rose his voice slight.

Jonathan flinched at the remark, breaking his cold, angry gaze off of Hugo Strange. He stared down at the floor, fists clenched tightly.

"If you will not cooperate," Hugo spoke again, "I am ending this session for the day... Do you wish to answer my questions?"

"Yes," Jonathan replied sharply, his blue eyes once again meeting the doctors, "You see... doctor; if you were so knowledgeable about my personality disorder, you would know I don't take well to authority. You should know I don't appreciate your attempts to control me, especially so early in my therapy," he leaned forward "A better therapist would have known that; I know that... even Harleen Quinzel knew that. And so I must ask, If I'm not cooperating today, then what makes you think I will tomorrow?" he smirked unable to hold back, feeling as though he had bested his so called superior.

"I have my ways of making my patients cooperate Jonathan," Dr. Strange rose and headed for the door.

"I'm interested in these methods," he said quietly in return, voice full of malice.

Hugo Strange made his way down the hall, instructing a guard to take Jonathan back to his cell as he did.

The doctor glanced at his watch, making sure that he had enough time to contact a pharmacist before Harley's therapy session. He did have the time to make a phone call to Arkham's pharmacist and good friend of his. Surely by tomorrow he could discover a way to 'encourage' discussion between he and Crane.

* * *

Harley sat alone in the room, waiting for Dr. Strange to appear and her therapy to begin. Obviously the staff at Arkham did not see him as threatening since her nurse and guard left her unattended. She looked around the room, perhaps she wasn't. Maybe they had installed hidden cameras somewhere with all the money that Bruce Wayne had funded them with.

It would make sense to purchase a few more cameras for that place. Had there been cameras in Harley and Joker's room during therapy she would not have been sitting there at that moment. At least she did not think so. Without the Joker's false charm and lusty advances she may have not fallen for him. On the other hand he was the Joker, he would have found a way to win Harley over to his side.

It made Harley contemplate why she had fell in love with him in the first place. The Joker had obviously been attractive before scars and mental anguish. But Harley was not sure that was it, she was not that shallow. Maybe it was the thrill which seemed to surround the clown and the prospect of life without rules or restrictions. Perhaps it was because he had simply shown an interest in her, most men had not. Her independent personality tended to intimidate men, but for the Joker it had been a challenge. maybe it was just that unnatural charm that came with sociopaths or all of the above. And she had been stupid enough to fall for it.

"Good morning Harley," the voice of Dr. Strange broke her thoughts.

She did not reply, instead she watched him sit down and prepare to take notes.

"Did you sleep well?" asked the doctor.

Harley shrugged, "I guess so,"

"It's a simple question Harley, either you slept well or you didn't... I know you don't have many grey areas in life,"

"A nurse gave me something to make me sleep, I don't remember," Harley paused, "This is stupid," she stated, "I don't wanna talk anymore,"

"Therapy is required at Arkham," he explained, "Are you feeling depressed today Harley?"

"No,"

"Interesting because you appear quite depressed. I don't appreciate lies, they'll get you no where in therapy," Dr. Strange said, "Why are you feeling poorly today?"

Harley laughed cynically, "I think its obvious doc,"

"So you do not like Arkham,"

"Of course not, no one does,"

"And what makes you think that?" asked Strange, "After all you are here to heal and go on to live a productive crime-free life,"

"Yeah. That may be what the pamphlets say but I've worked here, okay. I know there are therapists who actually care and then there are others who do their shift and get the hell out. You don't care about me Dr, Strange, you just wanna get done here and get home to ya family while I rot in a cell,"

Dr. Strange nodded, "Interesting. When did this negative view on things begin for you Harley? Was it perhaps influence from the Joker,"

Harley glared at him for a long time, unsure of whether to answer the man's question of simply scream in pure frustration, "I'm done talkin'," she finally concluded.

"Our session's only lasted ten minutes? Why do you wish to quit? questioned the doctor.

"Because Strange, if I don't quit now I'll have to force my thumbs slowly into your eye sockets and I know that you won't like it,"

* * *

Jonathan stared down at a pale sandwich and equally colorless pile of apple sauce; lunch time at Arkham.

He had just picked up the sandwich, the meat in its center unknown when a voice pierced the silence of the cafeteria, "Heeey Jonny!"

It was unmistakeably Joker, Crane did not even have to look up to tell. The clown hurried to his table at the left end of the room and sat down beside Jonny with Dr. Strange close behind.

"Guess who has lunch room privileges tooodaaay," he sang happily.

"Apparently you do," Jonathan placed the sandwich back onto his tray, "My only question is; why?" he asked feeling rather unsafe with Joker being around knives and forks, however dull they may be.

"I thought it would be good for Patient four, four, seven nine's recovery," Dr. Strange spoke up, approaching the two, "You being a former therapist should know these things... Dr. Crane,"

Jonathan scowled.

"In other words I'm getting bribed-uh," Joker smiled, licking the corners of his mouth.

"No, not bribed," Strange corrected, "It's good for you to have social interaction,"

"Oh, well in that case ya know what else would be good for me," Joker retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, "A light,"

Jonathan was thankful Strange was handling Joker's lighter.

"Want one Jonny?" offered the clown.

"No thanks,"

"Riiight. Probably not to good for uh, Scarecrow," he said taking a drag, he looked up a Dr. Strange, "Uh, you can go now. I'll be a good boy, I promise,"

Hugo Strange nodded, "I'll see you two gentlemen in therapy tomorrow then," he exited the lunch room.

"Oooo you're seeing Strange now? Whatdya do to deserve that?" Joker blew smoke in Jonny's direction.

"Nothing," Jonathan swatted at the smoke before him.

"Well ya hadta to something, I mean, he's my therapist to. Obviously he's reserved for the uh, special cases, ya know what I mean?"

"No," was Jonathan's short reply.

Joker rolled his eyes at Jonny, taking another drag of his cigarette. He glanced down at his tray and a silver fork laying on it, "You have a sandwich and apple sauce..."

"Yes,"

"What's the fork for?"

Jonathan shrugged, "Must have got it by mistake,"

"Huh," Joker picked up the utensil, he twirled it in his fingers a few times before sliding it into his pocket, "Shhhhhh," he removed the cigarette and placed a finger to his lips.

Jonathan did not care as long as his life was not endangered. As of now he seemed to be on the Joker's good side, if there was a good side, maybe better side would have been the correct term. Either way it was a safer place to be. Jonathan made a mental note to be a little nicer to the clown though, now that he had a fork.

"So," he began, "Dr. Strange is bribing you for the origin of your scars?"

"Yeah that. I think he wants just about ev-er-y-thing in this uh, brilliant mind," Joker explained.

"How compassionate of him," scoffed Crane sarcastically, "No doubt he'll benefit from your secrets,"

"No doubt I'll benefit from him wanting my secrets. He'll get me just about anything ya know. Is there something you want Jonny-boy?"

"My position in Arkham, but that won't be happening,"

"No, I meant small stuff. Liiiiike drugs or better books in the rec room... or alone time in the shower. I'm sure inmates rape the hell out of you," Joker said matter of factly.

Jonathan paused before bowing his head, "Yes, solitary shower time would be nice,"

"Done," Joker took a drag, "Oh and no need ta thank me. I'm sure you'll find a way to return the favour," he poked at Jonathan's sandwich, "Is this ham?"

"Honestly, I have no idea,"

* * *

_A little short, sorry for that. Lemme know what ya think though._


	6. Unlocked Doors

_I'm always late. This time I was sick and then the internet died... sorry everybody. I hope this is worth the wait._

* * *

Harley awoke abruptly the next morning, despite the sleeping pills given to her the night before, she did not feel rested. Her mind had forced her out of sleep on this rainy morning with yet another horrific nightmare featuring Joker. Nightmares like that came often and felt all to real. Closing her eyes for a night's sleep was swiftly followed by hopeless darkness and the heavy scent of blood as her own mind tormented her unconscious body.

Harley sat up in bed, tucking her knees up to her chin in an attempt to protect herself from the present darkness of her room and fading memory of the nightmare. She wondered how long it would be until Karen the nurse showed up with a tray of breakfast that Harley would not eat and advice she would not take.

Carefully Harley moved from the bed and on to the cold floor of her cell, making her way towards the door. A small window in its center revealed the space outside her 'cage'. Flickering, fluorescent light brightened the hallway and cast a few precious rays of light into her cell. She was thankful for the small amount of illumination. It saved her from the uncertainty of darkness.

Looking as much as the pane of glass would allow, Harley gazed up and down the hallway. All she could see were cell doors, no staff or inmates behind the doors. In fact the more she stared at the cell directly across from her, the more vacant it seemed. As did the one on its right and its left. Harley wracked her brain to remember if there had been fellow patients living adjacent to her the previous night. She was sure inmates lived there.

Harley's hand slid down the door, absent mindedly bumping into the handle. It moved. She pushed down on it and found the door was unlocked. But Harley quickly backed away, watching the seemingly unguarded door and waiting for her therapist to appear, telling her she failed some sort of psychological test. However, Dr. Strange did not come.

After a moment Harley could not resist. She approached the door again, this time pushing it completely opened and peeking out into the hall. Left, right, left, she looked up and down the hall. No one to be found, she could not even hear the usual sounds of Arkham. No complaining guards, or screaming inmates, no buzzing of walkie talkies and no pounding against cell doors. So Harley took a step out of the cell before cautiously making her way down the hall.

The former doctor quickly found that each cell was empty and every door was unlocked.

She kept going however, and knowing where the exit was, Harley avoided it. Feeling a strange sense of fear and excitement that she had not felt in months, Harley advanced through the asylum. It baffled her; it appeared as though the asylum was empty.

That's when she heard a voice, proving she was not alone, "Harley?"

She turned around to see Jonathan Crane. He stood in the middle of the hallway with his Arkham Asylum uniform, the Jonathan she remembered from her days as a therapist.

"It is you, I can't believe it," he smiled.

"Jonathan," Harley found her voice, "What's going on?"

"Oh. Yes. Uh... come with me," he responded rushed past her and grabbing her hand as he did.

"Where are we going?" Harley asked, trying to keep up with Crane.

He entwined his fingers in her own comfortingly, "Just follow me,"

Harley did what Jonathan said with no more questioning and she soon found herself at the storage room door. Still holding her hand Jonathan Crane and Harley made their way down the flight of stairs. As she gazed down, the staircase seemed longer than usual and the room darker.

The couple was a few steps away from being at the bottom when Harley spoke up again, "Tell me what's going on,"she demanded, turning to Jonathan so she could look him in the eyes.

But the wide, blue eyes she had once known were now replaced by shiny and equally blue buttons. In shock, her eyes wandered downward to a partially stitched mouth and tangled yarn like hair resting about Jonathan's shoulders.

"Jonathan?" she uttered.

"The Scarecrow," he corrected, his voice different, strange and somewhat garbled.

Harley jerked her hand back, freeing it from his. She leaned against the banister of the staircase form support, running away had not even occurred to her in this moment. Instead she stared at him, both confused and horrified.

Jonathan's orange Arkham uniform was suddenly dirty and full of tares. As was his pale skin, exposing blood-soaked straw beneath. And as Harley looked closer she noticed a stick, protruding slightly from Jonathan's back in place of his spine.

"What's happening?" she breathed, unable to speak clearly.

The Scarecrow did not answer, he merely grabbed Harley's wrist and pulled her down the last few steps and then deeper into the darkened basement. Straw penetrated The Scarecrow's tightly gripping hand and poked her wrist.

"Let go," Harley growled but found The Scarecrow stronger than he appeared.

As they rounded a corner in the basement, which now seemed to be a never ending space, Harley saw a light. A dim one, shining out from a doorway. She began to hear voices growing increasingly loud as she and The Scarecrow approached. The sounds were inaudible and chaotic. Low growls, screams and grunts rose amidst the chatter.

Harley jumped when a thin, lizard-like creature fell before them as they walked through the doorway. It flicked a long, slimy tongue in their direction before scurrying into to the room, the room they were headed for.

Once inside it was worse then Harley could have imagined. She tried to convince her mind that none of this was real as she looked around the room, it writhed with strange and grotesque creatures. They ranged from pig-like to primate in appearance, all of them screamed and ripping each other apart. Though one figure in the room besides she and The Scarecrow looked human, at least from what Harley could tell.

It stood with his back facing towards them in a black tailcoat and a top hat cocked to one side on its head. Across its shoulders it rested a walking stick with a skull in a jester hat. The figure appeared like a ring leader of a demented circus with mutant animals.

"The Scarecrow has a guest," he observed without turning around.

Harley felt chills up her spine. The voice echoed through out the room despite the volume of the monster fighting on the floor. It was familiar to her but distorted, like several people speaking at once.

Even as it turned to face them, Harley was unsure of who she was looking at. Much like his voice, he appeared familiar and strange at the same time. He seemed like someone she should remember, but just could not place a name or how she knew him.

Harley noticed his mouth immediately, it was impossible not to. Torn open almost from ear to ear, pieces of flesh hung uselessly on either side of his face. His bottom lip mutilated with two deep cuts down to his chin. Blood stained the lower half of his face, the top of his white collared shirt and bow tie. The bright crimson liquid soaking the shirt seemed fresh like he had just been cut.

"Harley," The Joker seemed unsurprised by her standing before him, as if he had never attempted to kill her.

Harley did not respond.

"I missed you," he was approaching her now.

Harley took her eyes of The Joker for a moment to find that The Scarecrow was no longer beside her, he had disappeared into the crowd. When she looked ahead again The Joker was gone.

"Did you miss me?" Harley jumped at his voice suddenly behind her, "Did you?" The Joker repeated as he pressed his skull cane against her neck forcing her against him.

"I-I don't think I know you," she found it hard to speak, she strained to say each word and they still only amounted to whispers.

"Ooof course you doooo," The Joker said running a bloody white glove down her stitches, "I maaade you," he purred in her ear before trailing bloody kisses down her neck.

Harley shuddered feeling the cold, sticky substance on her skin.

The Joker snickered and spun Harley around to face him in one swift motion, he held his walking stick secured behind her, keeping her restrained "Ya know what IIII wonder? I wonder if you even know yourseelf?" he licked a bloodied lip, "Ya see, ev-er-y-one here has given in to there uh, inner man... why can't you. I mean... you uh learned from the best, didn't chya?"

Harley stared at The Joker, unable to form words as she stared into his lifeless black eyes. She had not noticed them before, they were completely pitch black with no iris and no scalera. They seemed to disappear into their sockets since they were surround by black circles which appeared like spots on bright, white skin. No grease paint was smeared across The Joker, instead permanent shades of black and white amidst deep bleeding cuts on his face.

"Its simple sweet pea," The Joker began in a low voice, still sounding as if several 'Jokers' were speaking, "Yooou make it oh sooo complicated," he lowered his cane and twirled a lock of Harley's multicolored hair with his fingers, "So sad and lost in this loony bin, Harley-kins doesn't know who she is..." he suddenly grabbed either side of her face, holding her still, "But I know,"

For a moment his gloved fingers merely danced around the stitches. Toying with the little black wires and watching Harley's fearful expression. His tongue licked the blood across his face as if it possesed a life of its own.

"I know," The Joker whispered.

With that he tugged on stitches on both ends of Harley's scarred cheeks. They tore open strangely fast and her face began to unravel like a sweater after plucking a loose thread. Harley grabbed the sides of her face in desperation, trying to hold it together. But her attempts proved futile, blood squirted out from between her fingers like several, tiny fountains.

The Joker smirked before he shoved her roughly into the crowd. Dark figures with brightly colored clown faces and no eyes held her fast as other monsters turned their attention to Harley. They immediately attacked, pulling at her hair and clothes. Then Harley looked down in horror as they began ripping off her flesh reveilng icy, white skin beneath.

"No amount of therapy can save Harleen Quinzel," The Joker began, "There's not enough dr-ugs in the world and not even the Bat-man can help now,"

Harley was knocked to the floor as the lizard creature she had seen before pounced in her face. It tore at her face until all the normal skin was replaced with white, along with a black band across her eyes. They began to transform as well, her natural blue eyes turned as cold and white as her skin. The lizard snarled in her face, dripping black slime from its jaws. Harley closed her eyes tight, opening them when she felt the reptilian monster jump off.

Upon opening her eyes she found The Joker once again before her. He stood in the midst of the crowd with his head cocked to one side.

"You will always be The Harley Quinn," The Joker's voice echoed, "And you will always be mine,"

"No!," Harley yelled, both at The Joker and her attackers.

As she did black and red chains began to form around her. They became tighter on her wrists and ankles as she struggled to move and free herself.

Her protests were only met with laughter, which suddenly brought all the memories back. Harley screamed, nothing in particular, just screaming as loud as she could in attempts to drown out that sound; The Joker's laugh.

* * *

Harley awoke to the sound of screaming, which she soon found was her own pained cries. Her eyes still tightly closed she could feel herself being moved by others but unable to move herself, something restricted her movements. She felt a sharp pain briefly in her arm, followed by a burning sensation through her veins. It made the screaming stop. In fact it made almost everything stop.

"There," Harley heard a female voice say, "She'll be okay now,"

Harley lazily opened her eyes to bright lights and blurry silhouettes of nurses and guards.

"What the hell was wrong with her," a man said.

"Oh, probably a nightmare, that's all,"

"Should we get Dr. Strange?" asked a new female voice, higher and younger sounding.

"No, she's alright," replied the other voice.

Harley listened as the group exited what she assumed was her cell. The door shut and the lock clicked softly behind them.

So this was what Arkham's sedatives and straight jackets felt like. Harley had never known in the time she had been employed there. She tried to lift her head but found the task practically impossible. It felt to heavy, her body to limp and useless to support it. She did not know if she disliked the feeling, Harley really did not care either way.

* * *

There were not many young, attractive nurses at Arkham. Its not that all the other nurses were ugly, just nothing spectacular. But Joker knew of one nurse in Arkham that was quite pretty. He had seen her a few times in the hallway on his way to therapy and with his new found power over his therapist, he requested 'the pretty nurse' give him his morning meds.

Joker heard the door unlocking before she came in. Her face was flushed as she walked through the door, probably a little nervous about being so close to Gotham's most wanted. The Joker liked that.

"Gooood morning," he said, giving his best smile which extenuated his scarring.

"Morning," the nurse replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joker noticed a guard entering. He supposed he should have expected that. Just because Strange allowed him to pick his nurse did not mean an ape of a guard wouldn't come along.

He looked back at the nurse, her light brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail. It appeared a little to long and shiny to be real hair, probably extensions. Joker wondered why she needed such long, touchable hair to deliver medication to serial killers and child molesters. The same question arose in his mind when it came to the nurse's make up. A perfectly applied, shimmery, copper color covered her eye lids and was topped off with a black coat of mascara on her lashes.

"You're veeeeery pretty," the clown said in an almost innocent tone, "What's you're name?"

"Joker," the guard growled a warning.

"Easy sasquatch, I'm just making conversation,"

"It's Ashley," she handed him a clean, orange uniform to change into and turned her back.

"You uh, don't have ta turn around if you don't want to," Joker began unbuttoning his grey shirt.

"One more comment, clown and I kick your ass," the guard raised his voice.

Joker rolled his eyes, "Puuuh-lease, she probably gets sexually harassed all the time, look at her. What's the harm if I join in the fun, hmmm. Besides I happen to be a very valuable cli-ent to your boss," he poked the inside of his bare scars with his tongue, "They'll be no ass kicking here unless ya want fired, big boooy," Joker smiled smugly and kicked off his grey uniform, replacing it with an orange one.

"Hoow do I look Ashley?" he buttoned his last few buttons.

"Please just take your meds," the nurse handed him a paper cup of pills.

"Anything for you doll," Joker smirked and accepted the cup.

Inside it were several pills that he was supposed to take. He picked out two pills and swallowed them first, those were the only one's he actually took. After being in the asylum for some time the Joker experimented with his medication. He figured out what each little capsule and pill did and found that the combination of those two, and only those two, gave him somewhat of a high. At least for a few hours.

He tucked the next group of drugs securely underneath his tongue.

"Aaaahh," he stuck out his tongue so Ashley could be sure he swallowed (which he didn't).

Ashley turned to a clipboard to check Patient four, four, seven, nine off. The guard became distracted by something in the hallway, Joker smirked at the oaf staring out the door instead of correctly doing his job. He should know never turn your back on a mad dog, its easier to get attacked that way.

Joker slipped his medication into his hand and then quickly underneath his pillow. Once beneath the pillow his fingers met Jonathan's fork from the other day.

This was the reason he had asked for Arkham's only pretty nurse. He just wanted something to rip up. With Harley, Joker had grown accustomed to always having his own personal punching bag of sorts. So he picked the next best thing available to him. After all, he would not want to get out of practice.

Joker wrapped his fingers around the fork's cool, metal handle. He would have to take out the guard first, it would not be hard. Joker knew exactly where to sink the kitchen utensil into the man's thick neck. With Ashley he would take things slower of course. He imagined how the four, little puncture wounds forks left behind would look against her perfect, smooth skin.

Then he made his move. With reflexes quicker than the guard's, Joker pounced on him, slamming him into the cell wall. And in the same motion he sunk the fork as deep as he could into the guard's jugular.

The man's eyes grew wide and then glassy. Joker knocked his victim's head into the wall for good measure before letting him sink to the floor, since he was not quite dead.

The clown's focus quickly shifted to the nurse, his real prey. She was not yet screaming, much to his surprise. Instead she was whimpering, eyes round and shocked as she stared at the guard crumpled on the floor.

"Aaaww don't cry," Joker cooed, "I'm sure they'll hire someone to replace him. If ya think about it, I'm actually helping the economy this way; creating jobs ya know," he giggled, "Now don't be scaaared," he pulled the fork out of the guards neck, it's silvery top now red with blood.

He wiped it on to his shirt, leaving a sticky smear across the bright orange the he held the fork up to the light, examining it.

Ashley stared in disbelief at he fallen guard and then at Joker. It didn't take long for her to decide to bolt straight towards the door.

Joker had expected her to run, in fact he was hoping that she would, the pony tail came in handy. He grabbed her by the hair jerking her back to him and covering her mouth just as she was about to call for help.

"Shhh shh sh," he stroked her face with the back of his had, much to her dismay the hand that held a bloody fork, "I want ya ta know its nothing personal dar-liiing,"

Joker continued to hold her mouth shut with one and handle the weapon with the other hand. They were painfully close. Ashley could hear his breath become heavy in her ear as his body became hotter and tensed with each passing second.

Ashley was never one to give her mortality much thought, not until now. Though she found the life flashing before her eyes thing untrue, instead she was focused on how painful and slow death would be at the hands of the Joker. The nurse watched from the corner of her eye as he raised the fork above her shoulder, poising it to inflict pain.

"I just reeeeaaally need thisss," Joker said huskily.

The fork landed just beside the bones in Ashley's shoulder, ripping through mucsles and veins, splashing blood onto herself and Joker. She left out a muffle cry in pain while struggling against the clown.

Joker moaned slightly with ectasty, licking his lips and slowly pulling the fork out of Ashley's flesh. After that he drug it slowly down her arm leaving long scratch marks with small red beads of blood. But this was only foreplay.

Soon the two were on the floor. And while Joker put enough force behind that fork to penetrate scrubs, he preferred they be off of Ashley so he could admire his work. He concentrated on small sections at a time, filling them with scratch marks and puncture wounds without looking at who they belonged to. Joker just focused on the particular patch of skin he worked on. Fair, white and ordinary, you could barley identify a person by skin alone. And so as Joker twisted the utensil into Ashley's thigh, her mouth quieted by a pillow case gag, she was whoever he imagined her to be.

* * *

_Harley's nightmare was supposed to appear real to her so I thought hey, why not make it appear real to the reader as well. I always hate nightmares where I wake up, start going about my day and then something horrible happens and I never realize I'm still sleeping. I think they are the scariest. As in every nightmare/dream scene I write, I include bits of my own. The waking up in a dream, not being able to talk, seeing someone I know and not knowing them and the worst of all: being bound by something *shivers* I hate that._

_More nightmare notes: so obviously Harley struggles with who she is now. I wanted to convey that in a dream, along with the Joker's theme of people being truly evil on the inside. Hence everything being ugly and grotesque in the nightmare... or cool depending on the way you look at it. I mean I still pictured the Joker as being kinda sexy, even with the scary eyes and open wounds thing-anyway._

_I constantly repeated The Joker, The Scarecrow to define them as almost separate characters. They're supposed to be like an alter ego come to life._

_Eeesh I always feel demented after a Joker torture scene. Its like I'm proud of my writing skills and yet kinda disturbed that my mind thought of that. Trust me in real life I'm actually not deranged. Anyhow I really wanted this scene because I think Joker needs to kill and destroy. Not because he wants to piss Strange off and not even for the sake of creating chaos in this case, I see the character as needing suffering like drugs or sex._

_That's all. I'm tired._


	7. Poison

"Are you happy with yourself Patient four, four, seven, nine?" Dr. Strange asked, "Killing a guard and seriously injuring a nurse. Do you understand that she could sue this asylum for what you did yesterday?"

Joker didn't respond in a sedated haze and leaning against the soft, solitary confinement room wall.. Hugo Strange rubbed his temples with a sigh.

"I've been patient with you thus far. Very, very patient, for several long months. I've even allowed you privileges. Privileges that no other inmates of this asylum have... and this is what you do,"

Joker stared at his therapist thoughtful, "You sssaid she could sssue," he slurred.

"Yes,"

"Thassss all you care 'bout, huh?"

"No, that is untrue. I lost two valuable employees yesterday," explained the doctor.

Joker nodded slightly, "That anssswerss my question,"

"Well Patient four, four, seven, nine, fortunently this is not about me. It's about you. I know you don't know that murder is wrong but-"

"I know it doc," Joker interrupted, "I just don' think isss correct,"

"And I do not have the patience to argue your... your theories any longer," Dr. Strange began to make his way toward the door.

"Givin' up eh?"

Dr. Strange turned, "No, I have other methods to discovering your past Patient four, four, seven, nine,"

Joker chucked slightly, "But... what good will that do? What if I told you my birth name ssstartss with the letter jaaaay?" he sucked his bottom lip momentarily before speaking again, "What good will that do? Theresss liiiike a jillion J namesss in the world,"

"I fail to see your point,"

Joker sighed heavily, "The point iiisss; anything thing I tell yooou will beee one tiiiiny puzzle piece. And you'll never uh, complete the whoole thing cos face it... some of the piecesss are juuuust lost,"he looked up at Dr. Strange through heavily lidded eyes, "Predic-ssshhin," he slurred, "You'll lossse your mind tryin' to figure me out," Joker licked his right scar, "You're not givin' up...neither am IIII,"

The doctor seemed to consider the words. Though Joker believed the man was far to arrogant to take them to heart and he didn't want him to. Joker never gave warnings so that people could heed them. He gave them to plant that little seed of fear in the back of a person's mind. That little 'what if' that would constantly nag and eat away at its host psyche before it eventually destroyed it.

* * *

Harley had been excused from therapy since the sedatives she was given the previous day knocked her completely out. It wasn't until about lunchtime the next day that she was feeling better.

Karen came in about twelve. She had been in earlier as well, but Harley was barely conscious and could not remember the nurse or medication she took.

"How are you feeling," Karen asked.

Harley rolled over in bed, rubbing one eye, "Tired,"

"Sorry to hear that," the nurse apologized, "Maybe some food would boost your energy, it is lunch time,"

Harley rolled her eyes.

"C'mon," she gave her a hand, "Dr. Strange's given you cafeteria privileges, you should be excited,"

She groaned, Harley was not excited by the prospect of the cafeteria. She would prefer to stay in her cell, not matter how damp and cold it was. But the doctor ordered some social interaction and she obviously was on medication to help with that. Harley, much to her surprise, did not feel as anxious as she would have expected with her situation. However none of her pills helped with her lack of enthusiasm.

Karen assisted Harley in walking to the cafeteria, a guard following close behind. As if she could run if she wanted to, not with her leg still in a cast.

"Here we are," Karen gently opened the heavy cafeteria door.

Inside it was set up much like a school. The tables were set up much like picnic tables so that patients could not harm each other with chairs and of course everything was bolted to the floor.

Harley stood awkwardly at the front of the room with Karen, "Let's find a place for you to sit, this probably isn't good for your leg," said Karen, searching the room for a spot, "Ah over there," she began leading Harley to the far left end of the room.

Sitting by the wall was a woman with long, red hair pulled back in a pony tail. She stared down at her tray pushing a few green beans around with her fork in a bored manner.

"Pamela," Karen greeted as she approached the woman.

Pamela looked up with the brightest green eyes Harley had ever seen, "Hello Karen," she smiled slightly then glanced at Harley, eyeing her up and down sternly.

"Pamela this is Harley. Harley this is Pamela Isley," she introduced the two.

"Hi," Pamela held out her hand in a professional manner, Harley accepted the handshake, a gesture she had not expected from a fellow inmate.

"Pamela, Harley is new and I thought it would be best if she sat with you today," the nurse said, knowing that she was one of the few patients that could really control herself.

"That's fine Karen,"

"Thanks. I'll just take Harley here through the lunch line and be right back,"

Harley went to the line with Karen feeling like a child. She glanced back at her new acquaintance, Pamela. Those intense green eyes watched her briefly before looking back at her lunch. Harley wondered what she was here for.

In a few moments she returned to the table with a bowl of green beans and ham, mashed potatoes, a bruised apple and a miniature carton of milk.

"I'll see you girls later," Karen waved and exited the lunchroom to return to her job.

After a pause Pamela spoke, "She's a nice lady,"

Harley nodded.

"One of the few orderlies here that treats patients like people," she continued.

Harley simple nodded again, trying the mashed potatoes. They seemed to be strangely gritty in her mouth.

"They aren't very good are they?"

Harley shook her head no.

"Are you mute Harley?" asked Pamela smartly.

"No," she spoke this time.

"I didn't think so," Pamela sat her fork down and pushed her tray aside, "I've heard about you," she began, "I was still a free woman when you broke the Joker out of here. But once I was... well, placed in Arkham I lost track of your story," she leaned forward, "Is he responsible for this?" Pamela traced lines on her own face, mimicking Harley's stitches.

"If you must know, yes," Harley said quietly, not looking up towards the other woman.

"I apologize... that was rude and somewhat obvious,"

"It's okay," mumbled Harley.

"I suppose I'm opinionated and I don't think much of you," Pamela spoke, eyes fixed on the former doctor across form her.

Harley was taken back somewhat by the statement. She finally made eye contact with Pamela.

"There I go again," she laughed, "Far to opinionated. It doesn't help being in a mental institution and simply being allowed to speak my mind without social consequences. But I'm sure you know all about that, being a former therapist here," Pamela paused and after no response from Harley continued, "That's my problem with you. You gave up a PhD for a man,"

Once again, Pamela got no response from the woman across the table. Harley only stared at her in anger and shock at what she was so openly saying to her, this person she just met.

"Well, its time for me to go, I have therapy soon," Pamela stood up, taking her tray as she did, "See you tomorrow Quinzel,"

"Its Harley," she spoke up, "Just Harley,"

Pamela nodded, "Still going by an alias, Harley Quinn. Is there a technical term for that? When a patient just won't let go?" she asked continuing to walk on.

* * *

_And so Poison Ivy (Poison Ivy is Pamela Isley, but I'm sure everyone knew that) enters the story. The versions of the character that I have seen are kinda bitchy so I went with that. But I think that's a bit of an exterior for the Ivy character, maybe her toughness is misunderstood and she'll really be good for Harley..._


	8. Boo!

"Aaah, its good ta be home," Joker proclaimed as a guard led him back to his original cell.

Apparently one day and one night in solitary was sufficient punishment in the eyes of Dr. Strange. Employees at Arkham Asylum, however, disagreed. Of course, if one thought logically, what sort of punishment was solitary confinement for the Joker? He was alone all the time in his usual cell, the clown found ways out of straight jackets and he seemed to have fun with the puffy walls. Solitary confinement was just a change of scenery for Gotham's clown prince of crime.

Many of Arkham's staff were beginning to question their safety after the recently murdered guard and badly maimed a nurse. Working with the criminally insane was a risky business, but adding Joker to the work place practically made it suicide. Many began to quit their jobs.

"I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut," grumbled the guard as he unlocked the door.

His name was Sam, he stood six foot three, had a dark brown crew cut and was not thrilled when he was asked to escort the Joker back to his cell. Not because he was fearful, he just did not want the temptation of strangling the life out of that clown.

"Not a morning person are ya... sorry I uh, didn't catch your name-," the guard shoved Joker through the door on mid-sentence, "Well, that was very nice," Joker whirled around, "Uhhhh, Saaam," he squinted, exaggerating that he was reading the guard's name tag.

"Do not speak to me," Sam said through gritted teeth.

The guard clenched his fists and turned to go.

"That's a recurring theme here eh Sammy?" Joker poked the inside of his scar, in thought, "Shut up clown, you shouldn't be alive, I'm gonna kick your ass," he mocked the Arkham Asylum guards, "Talk about bad service, that's how ya loose cus-tom-ers Saaammmy. I'm even considering taking my business elsewhere,"

Sam turned around, "Don't call me Sammy and you should be dead,"

"See, there you go again. It's not my fault when ya think about," he licked his mouth, "Blame the court system they put me here instead of the electric chair,"

"Yeah well, after that shit you pulled the other day I say die anyway," replied the angry guard.

"That's another thing; all you guards are so vengeful and just incapable of ignoring my little antics,"

"Little antics," yelled the Sam taking Joker by the collar.

"Well yeah Sam. I didn't do anything ta you," a smile spread across his face, "Or did I? Hm? Was that guard you're uh, buddy? Or or maybe Ashley?" Joker raised an eyebrow.

Sam shoved the clown back.

"I'm not wasting my time on you," the guard attempted to leave again.

"Aaaaan another line I've heard before. Tell me Sam does Strange clown you guys in the basement? " he giggled.

The guard remained calm, the comment earned an eye roll with some annoyance but nothing more. Sam slid his key card into the lock and opened the cell door to exit.

"If ya turn a fork just right," Joker began, he licked his lips quickly, "Ya get some uh, in-ter-esting little designs," he nodded, his tongue slowly grazing his bottom lip with a smirk, "I carved smiley faces all over her ass,"

With that Sam spun around, his tight fist slamming as hard ad he could towards Joker.

The clown did manage to react somewhat, moving slightly and lessening the impact, but not quite enough, "You actually hit me," he said, blood leaking from his nose, "Didn't think ya had it in ya Sammy," Joker wiped the blood onto the back of his hand, "Especially after what I just did to your uh, lit-tle friends, huh? What if I've got two forks hidden Sammy?"

The guard hit him again in the face, more blood spilled from his nose and down his lips. The clown laughed it off, licking the bitter red substance from his mouth before taking another hit.

With three forceful punches in, Sam stormed out of the cell and left Joker giggling on the floor with a bloody nose and split lip. He thought the clown had it coming, though all guards were under instructions not to harm the Joker. At this point Sam was not worried about losing his job, besides, Dr. Strange seemed rather frustrated with his sociopathic clown lately, he may not care.

* * *

"Oh god what happened to you?" Jonathan Crane gasped at the sight of Joker's split and slightly bruised lip.

"Better question is; what happened to you?" asked the Joker, noticing his unusual behavior.

"Why? What do you mean? What's wrong with me?" Crane asked, clutching the sides of his face with worry.

"You're all twitchy and.. weird," Joker eyed him up and down.

"Meds, I'm on new medication," he sighed with relief that nothing was seriously wrong., "Dr. Strange prescribed it, I hope my body's simply adjusting to the change in meds and causing me to act this way"

"Aaaare ya gonna be like this forever?"

"I certainly hope not Joker," Jonathan laughed nervously eyes shifting around the room, "So you never said what happened to you," he began chewing his nails.

"I got in a fight with a guard," Joker shrugged, "Stop that," he pushed Jonathan's hand from his mouth, annoyed.

He laughed again, nervously and fake, "I'd hate to see what he looks like huh?"

"Eh, I left him alone," Joker absent-mindedly began picking at his injured lip and sucking on the blood that slipped out.

"Really?" Jonny began biting his nails again.

The clown watched the now extremely nervous Jonathan Crane obsessively gnaw at his already chewed fingernails. He was not sure if he liked the new Jonny or not, he'd have to wait and see.

"Boo!" he suddenly shouted to startle the already frightened man.

"What was that for?" croaked Jonathan after catching his breath and calming himself down.

The clown shrugged his shoulders and continued picking his lip.

Jonathan made a face, "You shouldn't do that,"

"You shouldn't bite your fingers,"

He ignored the other man, "It could get infected or not heal properly," he continued.

"Fine by me," Joker paused, "Boo!"

Jonathan screamed in surprise and retreated to the other end of the rec room, diving onto the couch and shrinking into it.

"Sorry Jonny," Joker laughed, "I won't do it again... maaybe," the two sat in awkward silence for a few moments before he spoke up again, "You have such pretty eyes,"

"You've mentioned that before," Jonathan scooted out of Joker's reach, who quickly closed the space between them anyway.

"Yeah I know. I uh, just can't get over how blue they are," he said growing closer and twirling a lock of Jonathan's dark hair around his finger.

"I know," he replied, nodding and chewing his thumb nail.

"Um, Jonny-boy, a 'thank you' would suffice,"

"It would if your compliments meant anything," Jonathan said, regretting the words soon after, "Damn meds," he thought.

"Aaaand what do you mean by that, Jonny?" Joker asked emphasizing the t in 'that'.

"It's just that, well, I've treated dozens of sociopaths," he explained, "You all have a false charm and your manipulators, kind of a bad combination so excuse me if I assume you just want something from me,"

"Smart to, look how fast you diagnosed meee?" he wrapped his arm around him, once again beginning to play with his hair, "But since you're uh, offering... there is one tiny thing you could do for me,"

"What?"

"See I lost my cafeteria privileges aaand my nurse doesn't bring straws with meals," he began.

"So," Jonny interrupted, "That's all you want? Straws?"

"Mm hmm,"

"Why?"

Joker smiled, "Aww Jonny," he ruffled his hair, "What do think straws are fooor?"

Jonathan conisdered the question, but wanting straws for their purpose; drinking, seemed way to uncomplicated and ordinary for the clown.

"Do they have other uses Joker?" he questioned.

"Call me Mr. J aaand yeah, maybe they do,"

Of course Jonathan did not care who got hurt at the Joker's hand. Or what other bizarre uses he had for a straw, he was just curious.

"Okay," he finally agreed, "I'll get you some straws,"

Joker smiled at him, splitting his lip's wound further apart and making it bleed. He decided he was going to like the new Jonny after all.

* * *

_Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, I hate the filler chapters as much as you do. But I guess they're needed to make any progression, I just hate writing them._

_Anyway, I made a new livejournal and the link is on my page. Its specifically for my art which I would like to start selling. But there's not to much on the livejournal yet. I'm having scanner problems so the few posts are of old, not for sale pieces. Still, I'd appreciate some visitors on thar._

_Thanks for reading._


	9. The Scars

This morning breakfast came in the form of scrambled eggs. Though it somehow resembled the cereal, mushy and pale. Harley managed to eat the toast that came on the side and half of the orange juice before Karen came to escort her back to her cell from the cafeteria. The nurse was sure to lecture Harley about not eating, but did not make her do anything. Harley found that the nurse was all talk, since she had not finished any of her Arkham meals. Not just because they were unappealing and somewhat tasteless, Harley just did not feel like eating.

Karen sighed at the sight the tray. Harley felt a little frusterated she was forced to be around the only nurse in the whole asylum that gave damn. Just that little sigh of disaproval made her want to scream.

"Oh I almost forgot," Karen spoke up, "You won't be going to therapy until this afternoon. We finally arranged for a doctor to come and you'll get your stitches out. He'll check your cast to see if its ready,"

The mention of her stitches sent a tingling kind of pain into her stomach, as if she were on a roller coaster and had just dropped down the first steep hill. It was not that she forgot they were there, never. How could she? They constantly reminded her of their presence, when she ate, when she yawned, even in her sleep if she lay against them she recalled the wounds. She constantly felt the pulling, itching and wires poking at the insides of her mouth. Harley could certainly feel they were there, but hearing someone else talk about them made it even more apparent that others could see them. It made it painfully obvious that this was not all a horrible dream.

"What? Am I supposed ta be happy er somethin'," she spat out after the nurse stood for several moments waiting for a reaction.

Karen didn't say anything, she walked her back to her cell which was not to far from Arkham's cafeteria.

"A nurse will be here in about half an hour to take you to the doctor's," she said once they arrived.

"You're not takin' me?" Harley asked.

"No, I'm supervising the rec room for the morning," Karen said, "Good bye Harley," she closed the door behind her.

"Oh," she shrank back in bed, "Thank God I won't have ta deal with Arkham's 'employee of the month' any longer than I usually do,"

* * *

Harley noticed that time seemed to move extra fast just when you did not want it to. It seemed as though Karen had just closed the door when in came another nurse to escort Harley to her appointment. Another women, younger though, with an armed guard by her side. This one hardly spoke a word to her and Harley was glad. The guard bound her wrists with hand cuffs and held her arm tightly, as he walked her down the hall.

The trio headed for the smallest section of Arkham Asylum, made for emergencies and sick patients. At times the asylum sent inmates off to regular hospitals, if the situation called for it, but usually they tried to make due with their own little hospital. It kept the public safer.

The hallway seemed to glow with an odd bright light that hospital seemed to have. Along with complete silence. And unlike the rest of the building, this part seemed very clean. Only three cells lined each side of the short space and a large glass window covered the entire front of every cell, making it easier to observe a patient.

The nurse and the guard led Harley into the first room on the right, inside the doctor was waiting.

"Please sit down Ms. Quinzel," he instructed as he rose from his seat.

* * *

"Here's your straws," Jonathan quickly handed a bundle of straws to the Joker with shaking fingers.

"Thanks Jonny, I knew I could trust you," the clown slid them into his pocket, leaving one out.

He tore the top of the thin paper cover, blowing it at Jonny and revealing a shiny red straw. Joker examined the straw, it had a wide opening, the kind restaurants gave out with milkshakes.

"Would you put that away," Jonathan said, trying to keep his hands from quivering, "We're going to get in trouble,"

"Lighten up Jonny," replied Joker, chewing on the straw, "You're in a mood today are chya?"

"No,"

"Yeah ya are. What's wrong," he began poking him with the straw.

"I'm just... I'm just frustrated,"

"About whaaat?"

Jonny sighed angrily, "The fact that I let you manipulate me,"

"What? You got a handful of str-aaaws, I didn't manipulate you,"

"Yes, you did. You're the Joker that's your game," replied the former doctor, his voice shook slightly either from medication or fear that came with correcting Joker, "You start out small. You manipulate people into doing things for you or sharing in your ideals until they become raging maniacs or just kill themselves. Trust me, I could see your work first hand with Harley," Jonny shook his head, "I allowed you to begin that process with me,"

Joker sat back on the rec room's lumpy couch and bent the straw back and forth, "IIII wouldn't say that. I make suggestions... that's all," he thought for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip now instead of the straw, "So Dr. Crane, ya know so much about me... what about you? What makes you 'crazy'," the clown tossed the straw behind him and air quoted 'crazy'.

"I'm not crazy," corrected Jonny, "I'm told I have a personality disorder, like you,"

"Personality disorder," Joker scoffed and rolled his eyes, "More like human nature. So what'd they label you with?"

"Narcissistic Personality disorder, I think, I've never been told for sure,"

It was Jonathan Crane's diagnoses, even though he was not told about it by former therapists in Arkham.

An abnormal childhood had caused it along with his alter ego, but that was a whole other set of mental issues.

A Narcissistic Personality disorder was the reason he became a doctor, to put himself in a high possession. He wanted to assure everyone of his intelligence by added a 'doctor title' before his name. But he soon found that was not enough. He worked hard to build a reputation as on of Gotham's most brilliant psychologists and once he attained that, Jonathan found himself wanting more. That's when the human experimentation began; he put himself as high as he could. He felt so important as he watched Gotham's most feared criminals cower in fright before him.

"Mm-hmm," Joker said interrupting Jonny's thoughts, "What's that like,"

"It starts during childhood, a narcissist cares mostly for themselves, of course. They have little to no empathy, may behave arrogantly, envious or believes others are envious of them and they usually have a need for power. Narcissists like to be in control," explained the former doctor.

"Ooooh Jonny I had no idea," Joker smirked and twirled a lock of his own blond-ish hair around his finger, "Is that why you're throwin' a lil hissy fit about the straaawsss?"

"I did not throw a hissy fit," corrected Jonathan.

"Aaaah, you narcissists are probably prideful to, huh? Don't wanna admit you're wrooong?"

"I'm not necessarily a narcissist Joker, I said I think that's my diagnoses,"

"Whatever," he picked at his lower lip which was beginning to scab over, "Tell me more about me,"

"You seem very interested in personality disorders for a person who doesn't believe in them,"

"I don't believe in them and don't get smart Crane," Joker successful pulled of his scab, "It's just that when your babbling about psychology you're not as shaky and annoying. Now tell me about my sickness doc,"

* * *

"Your leg looks just fine Ms. Quinzel," the doctor examined the now cast-free limb after having Harley walk and stand on it, "We won't have to replace the cast,"

Harley looked down at it and wondered how many months it had been since she saw her leg. Faint bruises still sat on the surface of her skin here and there where screws and pins had been places. A few short scars completed the scene.

"Now for the stitches," Harley's doctor held either side of her face closely surveying each side, "Have they been giving you any trouble?" he asked eyeing the stitch she pulled out.

"No," she lied in return.

"Okay, it looks to me that both sides healed back together again," he gently poked at the scarred flesh, examining it.

* * *

"Where do I begin? You're a text book definition of an Anti-social Personality disorder,"

"I thought you called me a sociopath,"

"You are, they're the same thing," Jonathan said fidgeting with the sleeves of his Arkham uniform, "To name a few symptoms, no empathy, failure to create plans or keep jobs or relationships, a strange sort of charm. You have no regard towards the law or authority... or to anyone for that matter. You say and do what you want no matter how it hurts or invades the privacy of others... should I go on?"

"Nope, sounds like me. But have ya ever noticed everybody has those traits? Maybe uh, not aaaall at once like me... but they're still there, peaking out of a personality. Something to think about eh Jonny-boy?"

"Uhhh," groaned Jonathan seizing fistfuls of his own hair, "You're doing it again,"

"What manipulating?" giggled Joker, "Sorry I forgot how much you hate that," of course Joker was not really sorry, "C'mon, I'm just making observations. Even your little uh, example of a shattered psyche, Harley, survived that part.

"Obviously she didn't," Jonathan protested.

"Noo, no she did. I told her all the facts of life and uh, ex-posed human nature for her and she didn't budge. That's not what got her in the eeend,"

"Then what did?" asked the other man skeptically.

Joker leaned close, "Remember what ya said about sociopaths being charming," he raised an eye brow.

"Uh huh," Jonathan nodded, somewhat confused as to what the clown meant.

* * *

Harley did not feel a thing while they removed her stitches. The nerve endings across her permanent smile were completely dead. The doctor tugged out the last stitch and dabbed the scars with some disinfectant.

"All finished," he concluded, "Would you like to see?" the doctor retrieved a small mirror, "If that's okay," he glanced at the guard and the nurse waiting at the other end of the room.

"I think she'll be okay," the nurse eyed Harley with some apprehension.

Harley scowled at her, though she knew she would have to get used to being treated like a time bomb of everyone was constantly waiting for her to explode.

The doctor handed her the mirror, facing the ceiling. Harley stared at the glass which now reflected the grey-ish colored ceiling tiles above her for a moment. The slowly, she began to turn the mirror upright.

This was the first time she would get a really good look at herself in months. She was not sure if it was nerves that were making her hands shake or just denial. Harley clung to the possibility that this was still a nightmare, cooked up by a dose of fear gas into the respiratory system. Any moment now, she hoped to wake up in a sunshine filled room with Mr. J sleeping soundly beside her.

She turned the mirror towards her face with a quick flip before becoming very still. Her breathing felt as though it had stopped as she starred at her pale, marred flesh. A changeless smile that cast purple colored shadows across her reflection, just like his...

* * *

Joker smirked before crashing into Jonathan, pinning him down across the couch he pressed his mouth hard against the other man's. Jonny struggled beneath Joker, surprised and a little frightened. The movement did not faze him though, he simply got closer, sliding his tongue between Jonathan's full lips and tangling his fingers into his hair.

Jonathan cringed at the thought of that man's saliva mixing with his own. It tasted bad, like a mix of gingivitis and blood. He silently cursed Arkham's staff for not paying as much attention as they should in the rec room.

It seemed like an eternity before Joker sat back up, grinning and dragging his tongue across his top lip.

"What the hell?" Jonathan exclaimed, still beneath the Joker.

"You asked me what I diii-id," Joker said in that sing song voice, still smiling broadly.

"I know but- but-" Crane panted, "What the hell?"

"Oh wait, I forgot! Dr. Crane likes to be in control,"

Joker managed to climb off Jonathan quick enough so that he could not escape, but he moved enough to switch positions so that Jonny was on top of him. The clown prince of crime kissed him again, holding him still with one hand pressed against the back of his head and the other on his back, though it was steadily moving downward.

* * *

With a quick sound of breaking glass, Harley pitched the mirror across the room, letting it shatter across the opposite wall and rain onto the sterile, tiled floor.

"Restrain her!" Harley heard the nurse order the guard.

The guard slammed her backwards across the examination table and the nurse rushed to her side with a needle. With a short pinch followed by a horrible burn the Harley's sedatives rushed into her blood stream. She did not care or try to escape. Instead she simply watched the sparkling pieces of mirror on the floor. Broken into far to many pieces to count, never to be whole again.

The shapes and colors in the room began to blur as the meds began to work, Harley slipped to sleep.

* * *

Jonathan managed to slip away. He scurried to the other side of the room, closer to the nurses who were supposed to be supervising.

"Jonny come back," Joker whined as he sat up, "I was just playin', its fuuuun,"

"NO, not for me its not,"

"Please Jonny,"

"No,"

Joker crossed his arms, "Fine, I'll just come over there,"

"Yeah well, then I'll tell," Jonathan pointed to the nurse behind protective glass.

The clown glared and stuck his tongue out at his uncooperative 'friend'. Jonathan returned the gesture.

* * *

_I feel ike Joker's always trying to get laid in my fanfictions, so I feel as though I need to explain why on the off chance people are sick of Joker smut._

_1. Sociopaths are often promiscuous and have no respect for other's sexual boundaries, one of the reasons they can't maintain a relationship. _

_2. After finding that Jonathan had control issues, Joker being Joker had to mess with him._

_3. I wanted to have a really drastic contrast in this chapter between total perversion and seeming innocence with he and Jonny. The Joker character seems to appear that way often, horrible and scary to childish so I love to portray that. _

_4. As I've probably said before; if I was locked up with someone as beautiful as Cillian Murphy, I'd wanna rape him and you know you would to._

_Something else I may have said before but needs to be said again: has anyone read The Land of Nod by vertigeaux? It's easily my favorite fanfiction. That and True Romance by pyr0. They are both series of Batman themed one-shots and they are incredible. Its basically magical the way these two write, you don't know what happened before or after each chapter, its just a chunk of magical Batmany wonder. Seriously folks, read it. They are loads of inspiration for writing fics or for Batman fanart. Loads._


	10. In the Basement

Life as a patient in Arkham Asylum continued on as usual for Jonathan Crane. He woke at seven each morning, changed into an orange uniform and took morning medication. Then he would head to the cafeteria, poke a discolored breakfast in disgust and boredom before going to the rec room. While he read the same books for the dozenth time he noticed something was missing from his very predictable Arkham day; the Joker.

At first he thought the clown was being punished, Joker was not exactly known for good behavior after all. A day went past, then two, then three and by the end of the week Jonathan assumed he had escaped. Another reasonable conclusion considering the Joker had made it out of Arkham twice before in the past year or so.

He was not sure why, but part of him felt a little angry. Jonathan knew that the relationship between the two meant absolutely nothing but entertainment for the Joker. Jonathan was someone to talk to, constantly pick on and more recently... Jonathan was still trying to mentally recover from that one. And somehow he still felt somewhat betrayed.

Jonny knew Joker had no empathy and that they were not friends or anything else for that matter, but he still wished the clown could have taken him along.

"How are you today Mr. Crane?" Dr. Strange asked, straightening out files and notes.

Jonathan thoughts were interrupted by the doctor entering the therapy room, "Fine, considering," he answered, nerves twitching slightly.

"Considering what?" Strange asked, but in a tone of voice that was not concerned with finding an actual answer.

"The fact that I'm a patient in an asylum, the fact that I should be the one asking the questions, the fact tha-" Strange cut Jonathan's response short, having heard the former doctor's lament several times.

Hugo Strange regreted perscibing certain medication to Jonathan. It made his once annoying complaints turn into overly emotion and out of control rants, if not handled properly of course.

"I understand your frustrations Mr. Crane, but you have made several poor choices and now must suffer consequences. Let's move on with therapy, shall we?"

Jonathan stared down at the floor glaring through his icy blue eyes, "I thought we agreed my title is still Dr. Crane,"

"Yes," replied Strange matter of factly, "But that was when you were cooperating with me,"

"Cooperating," Crane scoffed, still not looking at his doctor, "I don't discuss the Joker in MY therapy and you say I don't cooperate," Jonathan looked up slightly, "If I was the therapist I would have found out whats wrong with him by now," he said not entirely confident in his words for once, but wanting to appear like he was.

"Again, Mr. Crane, you are not a therapist any longer. Do not bring the subject up again,"

"Because I did a better job than you and you know it. That's why I was in the rec room with him, wasn't it? That's why you tried to give him cafeteria privileges. You couldn't manage to get into that clown's head by yourself so you wanted help,"

Dr. Strange maintained his stern gaze towards Jonathan Crane. He was right, the doctor could not deny that Crane was a very intelligent individual. But the patient could not win this. Strange could not let a narcissist walk out of therapy knowing that his own doctor used his intellect and gifting with the human mind to discover secrets about another patient. Strange thought quickly.

"You're a smart man Jonathan Crane," he spoke, "I was in need of your assistance I suppose,"

Jonathan gave a short, smug smile.

"I only wish my plan had worked,"

The smile Jonathan wore faded, he looked slightly confused.

"You were one of the finest doctors Gotham's ever seen... but I suppose that 'were' is the keyword," Dr. Strange sighed.

"I'm still the best in Gotham," snapped Jonathan in return, "I simply lack in time and the- the proper tools," he stammered angrily, "You're just upset because your star patient ran out on you,"

"I was just about to say the same for you Mr. Crane," Strange patiently responded, "Though technically Patient four, four, seven, nine did not as you said, run out on us,"

Cranes angry expression softened somewhat, "Then where is he?"

"I believe your are familiar with the basement of my asylum Mr. Crane,"

* * *

"Aww shock treatments," Joker whined, "We played this game yesterday," he licked his swollen bottom lip, still aching and bruised from a recent run in with a guard.

He smiled at his own joke, after all, no one else was. Of course they could be and he just didn't know it. How could he tell when the doctors and nurses looming over him were wearing surgical masks? They continued about their business, sticking little wires to him. Wires to deliver the shocks and other wires to monitor his heart rate. Red ones, black ones and blue ones.

Joker lifted his head slightly to glare at the recently placed wire on his chest. The little, grey stickers used to hold them on were annoying, not to mention a pain to remove. But he supposed their was more intense pain ahead.

A male nurse shoved him back down, hastily strapping him to the operating table.

"Besides," Joker continued on, "I thought shock treatments were for depressed people or schizophrenics,"

The orderlies continued to work, having dealt with the clown many times before as well as dozens of Arkham's 'extreme' patients. The incurable, the mutated, the punished, the stick-them under the ground and forget about them patients. The employees working on this level of the asylum had learned it was best to simply ignore such patients.

For a moment the clown pondered what category he fell into before returning to the matters at hand, "What?" he looked around at the exposed eyes of the orderlies, "Don't ya think I know what I'm talking about?" Joker asked as though they had responded, "Remember I've been friends with some of your uh, former fellow em-ploy-eees,"

A nurse placed a rag in his mouth as soon as he finished his sentence. Joker made a muffled 'eew' and shot her a dirty look.

"Let's begin," one of the two masked doctors spoke up as the last of the wires was placed on his arm.

Not his forehead, as other patients might receive. Instead they were placed on his arms today, proving to him what the basically knew; these shocks did not for his mental health. Or rather lack there of.

Joker watched the doctors. Doctor number one, as he simply named him, had very dark eyes almost black. Doctor number two's were a lighter shade of brown. Joker decided to keep that info in mind. He never knew when it may be useful, though he was not exactly one for revenge. No, he preferred random slaughter. Besides he had never seen the rest of their faces, they kept them well hidden beneath masks and caps. Also the kinds that surgeons wore, fluffy and a sickly shade of jade green. Only Joker knew these guys were not surgeons.

Doctor number one nodded to Doctor number two silently giving him instructions to began the process of shock therapy.

Joker's eyes widened at the first set of shocks, even when he knew it was coming, he was always surprised by the sudden jolt of pain through his body. After what seemed a long time the shocks stopped, leaving the clown breathing heavily and clenching the rag tightly between his teeth.

The doctor watched for a few brief moments, until Joker caught his breath again, "Deliver another round of shocks and this time turn it up just a bit,"

The Joker groaned in pain at the second round, these shocks being stronger than the previous ones. He bit down so hard his jaws ached as he squeezed his shaking fist equally tight.

"Aaaand stop," the doctor ordered, "I believe that's enough for today,"

Nurses began pulling of the little stickers, buttoning up his shirt and removing the rag from in his mouth. Quickly and efficiently they moved along as if eager to begin with the next unlucky guy to be drug inside, wrapped tightly in a straight jacket and drugged to oblivion.

"Sure does wake ya up," Joker tried to sound smart, despite his shaking voice, "But I get it now. I get it," he panted, "Its not treatment its fun. Its exciting. Ya wanna see what happens. Wanna see how much my body will take. Huh?" he looked right at the doctors, "But don't feel bad I'd do the same thing," Joker smirked.

"That's quite enough Patient four, four, seven, nine," the doctor said while taking notes.

Joker's smile widened. This was the most he had gotten out of a doctor since he was moved to the basement, "Ooo I'm being corrected, looks like I'm having a little break through of my own eh doc?"

No response, so he continued.

"In all your training on the mind; can you tell me uh, just where a human endsss and an experiment beginsss-uh,"

The nurses and the doctors before him continued on, doing there job like he had not said anything. All except for one. Joker caught sight of her expression, saddened and confused even through the cover of her surgical mask. Her reaction was sudden, impact clearly written on her face. Joker was not sure which he enjoyed more; the shocking realizations or the kind of moral questions that gnaw away at people for weeks until they shatter. Either way, he got her and that made him smile. The smug grin spit open his wounded bottom lip, blood swelled at the source of the cut. The clown's tongue darted out to meet it almost subconsciously as he watched the nurse.

For a few victorious moments he took in the satisfaction of distorting a person's view on society, not to mention themselves. His first time succeeding in this sense he entered the asylum this time around.

But the spell was broken when the doctor in charge, or rather Doctor One, announced that the procedure was over and ordered a nurse to escort the thoroughly electrocuted Joker back to his cell.

"Rooo-bert," Joker squinted to read the nurses ID in an exaggerated manner.

Robert did not say anything in return, he continued working. The nurse gathered up a few syringes of what Joker assumed was sedatives.

He glanced around the room impatiently as Robert flicked the syringes a few times and placed them safely in the pocket of his grey scrubs. Joker noticed some shiny toys on a table near him. A silvery scalpel blade and a few rather large needles waited patiently near him for the next Arkham Asylum torture victim. How captivating they were under the slightly flickering, fluorescent lighting of the basement.

Robert began to remove the straps holding the clown prince down. He unbuckled the two across his shoulders and his waist before moving toward the ones across Joker's ankles.

"Shit," Joker's captivated gaze broke from the lovely little weapons he heard a crash and Robert's swearing.

The clown glanced to the other side of him where the male nurse had obviously stumbled. It appeared as though he tripped over a bulky chord, which had been attached to an equal large and old looking piece of medical equipment. One of many stacked haphazardly about the small and dingy treatment room of the asylum's basement.

With his back turned toward the Joker, Robert stooped down to retrieve the fallen item. Big mistake, especially considering it was ancient and not worth his safety.

"Poor Robert," Joker would later coo, "Poor... stupid... Robert,"

* * *

"Your here a bit late aren't you Cheryl?" asked Micheal.

"Yeah I am," she replied, "I can't seem to find my ride home, Robert, have you seen him?" Cheryl inquired about her fellow nurse.

"No, I can't say I have," he replied adjusting his hat on his slightly greying, tight curls.

The two jumped at the sound of a high pitched shriek followed by another nurse's desperate voice, "Micheal I need help with Patient three, two, seven, six,"

"Gettin' to old for this," he shook his head and waved by to Cheryl.

She waved back, relieved that she was off duty now. Patient three, two, seven, six tended to be a handful. A left over patient from Dr. Crane's days at Arkham Asylum and the patient was constantly suffering from hallucinations because of that.

Cheryl began to walk on, looking for her friend Robert. Walking down the row of cells was no longer eerie to a pro like herself, she had worked in the basement of Arkham for a long time.

The cells hardly looked stable, odd considering these were some of the most dangerous patients in Arkham. The doors were filthy and covered in rust, beside large glass panels so that patients could easily be observed.

The lights were beginning to shut off for the night, leaving only a few flickering, dim lights down the center of the hall.

"Hey Rob, let's go," the nurse called, still not afraid just impatient.

She reached the end of the hall and after looking in nearly every cell she still could not find her ride home.

"Rob," she peered into a cell, almost unfazed by the convulsing patient inside.

This made her consider what the Joker said. Since she was one of the nurses on duty for the clown's daily shocks. Cheryl had never thought she was a bad person, just a bit desensitized in her line off work. It was understandable, it was human nature, a defense mechanism and it happened to everyone in her profession, obviously to maintain sanity. Or at least that's what she told herself, now the nurse was not so sure.

The patient before her shook violently, muttering and wrapping its thin arms around its emaciated frame. The man or maybe woman's paleness visible even in the dark. For the first time in a long time the nurse really looked at a patient. And not just the physical being writhing in the cell, but the mental aspect of the person. Cheryl watched and wondered exactly who this was, did they have a family, kids, pets, a spouse? Who they were and where they were from. It made her think about what this individual did to be admitted to Arkham, after all it was an asylum for the criminally insane. Though since Strange took over, she was not sure exactly how well the title held.

"Hey," a voice behind her said quietly.

Cheryl turned around to see no one, nothing but the last cell across the hall behind her. She approached it, wondering if the voice was coming from inside. She squinted to read the sign on the door in the darkness; 4479, it read.

As she walked nearer she could see the Joker's figure, back facing the hall, sitting against the dirty glass. The nurse debated with herself whether or not to respond, questioning why she wanted a complete maniac to know that she was not a bad person. Because with the Joker she was sure he had done bad things to get here.

"Hey," Cheryl finally said softly, tucking her cinnamon colored, brown hair behind on ear and approaching hesitantly.

"Have you been to medical ssschoool?" his voice sounded strange, slurred and somewhat garbled.

The nurse did not say anything for sometime in her slight confusion, the strange question catching her off guard, "Yes, I have. I'm a nurse," she answered his question after deciding the patient was simply having side effects from shock therapy.

"Good," he said.

Joker slowly turned around, pressing a blood-soaked hand against the cell's glass.

"Cuuzz I think... I need sssome help," he slurred then suddenly lurched forward, blood bubbled out of his mouth and splattered onto the glass separating them.

Joker's eyes rolled back and he seemed to pass out. He disappeared out of the nurse's sight and into the black of his cell, leaving a streaky crimson hand print behind along with a matching splash of blood, dripping down steadily down the filthy window.

Cheryl stood still, her mouth agape wondering what she should do.

"Patient four, four, seven, nine.... can you hear me? Joker?" the nurse looked around, "M-Micheal," she called down the hallway in need of the guard's assistence, "Micheal," she repeated after no answer, he still must have been assisting with Patient three, two, seven, six.

"Uh help, there's a patient emergency here," she began to walk down the hall to look for another Arkham employee, after all she was not about to go in there.

But she stopped short.

Cheryl looked back at the darkened cell with Patient four, four, seven, nine unconscious inside.

What if he was dieing... what if he was already dead?

She knew she did not have time to find someone else to help. Even if she could, Arkham employees were not exactly going to rush to the scene in attempts to save the Joker.

The nurse stood in front of the cell door. The clown's words echoed through her mind, 'where does a human being end and an experiment begin' he had asked.

Cheryl began fishing through her bag in search of her key card and a small flashlight she kept in her purse. Taking a deep breath she swiped the card in the door. Adrenaline forced her heartbeat to rapid speeds, she knew this was dangerous, possibly the equivalent of marching into the lion's den at the zoo. No, worse than that, Joker could do worse damage than an animal. The nurse nearly shut the cell door again and turned around. Instead she forced herself not to think of the obvious dangers she was facing and entered.

The scent of blood was heavy in the damp cell air. Cheryl approached Joker, she could see him slightly with the flashlight. Sitting on her knees in front of him Cheryl soon found that he was laying in a puddle of blood. She jumped back, falling down in the process. Cheryl shined her flashlight on the Joker, scanning the area more carefully this time. The blood was strangle thick and dark, like that from a fatal wound. She moved the light up and down the length his body and saw no visible cuts. Just bloody hands, a stained jumpsuit and the crimson substance leaking from his mouth.

Nervous and confused she began to shine the light around the rest of the cell. Its tiny bulb only illuminating small sections at a time. That's when she noticed something under the patients cot. An object filled the space between the floor and the bottom of the mattress, coming out slightly from underneath it as well. The nurse squinted for a closer look and found that the blood beneath Joker was draining from under the bed.

Her mind drew a blank at this sight, was this what she thought it was...

No it could not be, she drew closer. Cheryl carefully pushed back the cot but only about a foot. That was all she needed to see.

* * *

_God, this is late. Fortunately though, I have come armed with excuses lol. But seriously I've been crazy busy. I'm currently preparing for four art shows I'll be in, I was commissioned to do a logo for a golf place and Crohn's disease has basically been kicking my ass lately. So obviously this fic was sorta low on my priority list. I'm still very busy at the moment, but I felt bad for not writing._

_Anyway some psych stuff..._

_People with Narcissistic disorders obviously think very highly of themselves and their talents. They also assume that everyone is jealous of them and/or they themselves are jealous of everyone, hence Jonathan's relationship with Hugo Strange. That would also be the reason Jonathan found so quickly Strange's plan of getting Joker information through himself._

_Shock treatments are for severely depressed people, manic people, schizophrenics and people majorly life threatening addictions. So most likely the Joker would not be needing them, but I think its clear he's just being tortured. Though shocks can be used in a way that you show a person what they should not be doing and then shock them. That way they associate that thing with pain but I don't think that would help the Joker character either._

_Fanfics you must read: im-batman has started a series of one-shots centered around Joker celebrating a holiday. And I mean every holiday. Today was Mental Health Day and next is National Coming Out Day. Keep and eye out for them, they are always named after the holiday they are written about and are posted on that day. And they are sooo funny. Unique too, cause for me some of these fics get old, this one is definently the only series of its kind. The characters are obviously the Joker, Harley Quinn too, Jonathan/Scarecrow and some of Joker's henchies. Go read them and review, she doesn't have to many reviews yet and she deserves some more. _

_Well that's all. Sorry for the huge delay and the cliffhanger, I will try my best to get another chapter out sooner than this one._


	11. Useful Straws

Cheryl whimpered, unable to scream or cry or even form words. Her legs grew weak beneath her as she stared downward at the sight. She had appeared to have found Robert, under the Joker's cot was the last place she would have expected.

Cheryl forced the flash light from Rob's face, she could not bare to look anymore and yet she found it hard not to stare. In all her years if nursing and working in the asylum, never had she seen a sight so truly terrifying.

His eye sockets had appeared to be stuffed with bundles of thick, plastic straws. A wide slit traveled from one side of his neck to the other, the wound thick with blood. And those were just the injuries the nurse had seen, several more spread across his body all the work of Joker, a scalpel and a few needles.

She stumbled backwards, unable to take her eyes off the mutilated body before her. Though the corpse's silhouette was obscured by the darkness Cheryl still felt a sick feeling inside her. Disgust at the gory sight and the horrible loss of a friend. But she could not properly grieve Rob because suddenly, it all came together in her mind.

She glanced toward the Joker, still lying seemingly unconscious on the cell's cement floor. Robert's blood trailing out from the cot and forming beneath the fallen clown. This was a trap.

At this realization the nurse bolted for the door, covering her own mouth in attempts to muffle her panicked whimpers. She had just reached the exit, her hand grasped the cool, metal handle; her salvation, when she was forced backwards by her hair.

Cheryl screamed as loud as she could, not holding back now that Joker was about. She voiced a shrill and practically inaudible shriek for help. But is was all in vain as no one heard her but the clown in the cell and she was dragged to the floor.

"Shh sh sh sh," a cold, bloody hand wrapped around her mouth and the Joker's face came into her view from her place on the floor.

A few drops of blood spilled from his cracked, bruised lips and onto Cheryl's forehead. That was Robert's blood in his mouth, she thought, Patient four, four, seven, nine was an absolute monster and she hated herself from believing otherwise.

"Just caaalm down and ev-er-y-thing will be fiiiine," the clown prince cooed easing a needle towards Cheryl's neck.

She sobbed beneath his hand, her eyes widened in fear as she felt the pinch of a needle on her flesh.

Joker prodded the inside of his scars in concentration. He slowly pushed the contents of the syringe into the nurse's veins, being sure not to spill it out of her skin. And eventually the cries stopped, her eyes fluttered back in sleep... or death. The Joker really was not sure what a dose of sedatives, meant for his own body but injected into a smaller female's neck would do.

But empathy was not exactly part of Joker's personality. As long as she was incapable of stoping him from leaving the cell, he was satisfied.

He removed his hand from her face, leaving a red print across her mouth as Cheryl's head lolled to one side.

Joker gathered the rest of the needles that Robert had not moved fast enough to use and made his way out the door.

* * *

Jonathan Crane's grey sheets were tucked up to his chin and clenched tightly in each hand like a frightened child. Sleeping was so hard when every little sound seemed amplified. His senses were so heightened that even his neighboring inmate's snore startled him, again and again and again. He could not seem to convince his mind it was simply the sound of snores and not some horrible, deadly creature, not matter how repetitive it was.

Finally he attempted to force himself into sleep. Jonny closed his eyes tightly, refusing to open them again until morning despite the persisting sounds around him. Including the one that came from outside his door...

Quickly, Jonathan rolled over, facing the wall and squeezing his eyes closed as tight as he could. He heard the sound of the door unlocking-no it was his imagination, the knob turning-no it was another patient making noise, the door opening-it was just medication and nerves..... then there was silence.

Breathing heavily he broke his promise to himself and slowly opened his eyes. Jonathan, still facing the wall, saw only a dark and stained concrete wall. After some hesitation, he carefully rolled over to his back again to find the Joker looming over his bed.

Jonathan gasped, Joker's hand flew over his mouth, suppressing the oncoming scream.

"Shhh," he hushed.

Jonathan could barely make out the figure beside him. He could hardly see through the cover of darkness that it was Joker. The shadows of long bumpy scars on his mouth gave him away.

"How did you get in?" whispered Jonathan once Joker removed his hand.

He sat up, squinting to see the clowns face amidst the dark. He could not see very well but Joker's face appeared somewhat vacant, unusual for the clown prince of crime. He lifted a key card hanging from a lanyard around his neck and slowly waved it back and forth.

"Well, where did you get that,"

Joker shrugged, "Some guard I sedated on the way here," his voice surprisingly quiet, "Wanna go exploring Jonny?" he finally smiled, more typical than his behavior leading to this moment.

Jonathan vigorously shook his head no, still in bed.

"Aw c'mon, of course ya do," Joker corrected, tugging him roughly out of bed, "We're gonna visit Dr. Str-aaange's office,"

Before Jonathan could refuse he had him by the wrist, quickly leading him down the hall. Crane looked around fearfully for guards as they rushed through the asylum. Much to his surprise he did not see any, at least not any that were still conscious. The Joker had obviously been well stocked with needles. Jonathan noticed a total of three, fairly large men laying unconscious in Arkham Asylum's dim halls. But that was still not as many guards as Jonny would have expected to be on duty tonight.

"Security's been low lately," Joker began, as if reading Jonathan's mind, "The staff is quiting left and right. Can you believe Jonny? They're all afraid of lil ol me,"

"Because of the fork thing?" he asked in return, still looking around for guards.

"Yep. But I never do tricks like that twice,"

"Maybe they think next time it'll be worse," suggested Jonathan.

Joker laughed a little, "I like the way you think Jonny-boy,"

Jonathan glanced down at the hand Joker held his wrist with, dark red with dried blood. A rush of disgust filled his body briefly, giving him chills. But he supposed that there would always be casualties when the Joker was present. Besides he did not care about the blood's previous owner much, he just did not want it touching his own hand.

Soon they were on the elevator, heading towards Dr. Strange's office on the top floor. Jonathan hated the elevator, his medication making everything extreme, he felt like the walls were closing in. He sat down on the floor and tightly tucked his knees toward his chest. Jonathan looked up at Joker for support but jumped slightly, shocked by the clown's appearance, having noticed in the dim light of the hallway.

His bottom lip was swollen and cracked with a brown, fading bruise below it. Blood seemed to paint his broken lips red and drip downward across his chin in certain places. His dark eyes were bruised as well, both of them. It gave the illusion of his trademark eye makeup.

Joker noticed Jonathan's gaze of both fascination and pure disgust, "What?"

Jonny shrugged.

Joker ran his fingers through his matted hair, the blood tinged pink and red with blood. He smirked at Jonathan, who did not understand why. But of course, there were many things he could not understand about the Joker. Thus making it difficult to report things to Dr. Strange.

Difficult, but not impossible. He would continue to observe, naturally, he could not allow his current doctor to be right. Even if he had to make things up.

The sound of the doors sliding open brought relief, which was then dissolved at the sound of Joker's voice, "Aw greeaat," the clown said sarcastically.

Jonathan looked up to see an orderly in the hallway before them.

"Hey," the man shouted, surprised and angered by the two inmates sudden appearance.

Joker glanced at Jonathan rolling his eyes, like some inside joke directed towards the guard.

"Just out for a str-oll," he approached the guard, "Those cells get boring sooo fast, ya know?" Joker leaned on the elevator entrance, holding it opened and motioning for Jonny to follow.

"I'm taking you back to your cells," the guard's voice was commanding, but the Joker didn't falter.

Crane watched the guard's eyes, attempting to disguise fear. An almost impossible task considering the Joker's appearance was certainly frightful.

Jonathan looked at the clown then, the expression on his scared face unchanged. No sign of fear or concern what so ever. Jonathan marveled, in all his career as a psychiatrist, never had he seen such a perfect sociopath as the Joker.

"I'm curious to see just hooow you'll do that, without a gun?" a smirk played across his lips, "I know my Arkham em-ploy-eeeees. Guards patrolling upstairs don't have guns. Why wouldya need um? What patient will sneak up stairs when the exits on the first floor," he licked the corner of his mouth, snickering slightly.

The orderly looked at Joker and then Jonathan before looking back at Joker, considering his options. Next he rushed at Joker. He was not quite as tall as the clown, but more muscular. That could not save him though. Joker slammed him hard into the wall outside the elevator, holding him there by the collar of his uniform.

"Look Jonny," he called, not taking his eyes off the guard, "He wants to be a hero," Joker brought his face closer to the guards, "So what was your plan? Gonna wrasssle me back to my cell," he giggled.

The guard took the opportunity to hit him in the jaw, his movement limited from where Joker held him. But as always, Joker did not respond much to the pain. He reacted quickly by bashing the orderly head into the wall.

Jonathan stood back, eyes wide, watching the fight. Joker then looped the lanyard from the key around the guards neck while he was disoriented from the blow to the head. It fit tightly when wrapped twice with little slack, but just enough for Joker to fit his hand through. He gripped it tightly and pulled back.

The guard gaged, eyes bulging he slid to the floor. It didn't deter the Joker however. He continued to work, in fact positioning himself on top of the man was even more efficient. He jerked harder on the lanyard cause a reaction of gags and choking noises from the orderly.

The Joker made it seem so simple, both physically and mentally. It fascinated the doctor in Jonathan Crane.

The expression of pain melted from the guard's now reddened face and his eyes rolled back in his head. Joker rose and nudged the fallen man with his foot, he didn't move. The clown knelt again, loosing the lanyard and returning it to his own neck.

"C'mon Jonny," the clown prince said nonchalantly and continued down the hall.

Jonathan obeyed, following close behind his companion until they reached their destination.

Joker carelessly opened the door after taking a moment to unlock it, "Here we are," he went inside and turned on a reading lamp connected to Dr. Strange's desk.

The clown quickly made himself at home, looking around the room. He opened drawers and looked at the pictures hanging on the wall. All Jonathan could do was watch him in wonder. Joker was now browsing through a long book shelve behind he doctor's desk. He was not exactly the image of a killer, certainly not like to ones Crane had treated. The Joker was fair skinned with dark eyes and long lashes. When clean, his hair was shiny and a dark blond with slight waves. Aside from the swollen facial scarring and now fading purple-ish circles beneath his eyes, he was perfect in appearance. Like a fallen angel, he was beautiful and so evil.

Crane continued to watch him paw through books, casting aside the ones he was not interested in. This man differed greatly from the clown that existed outside of Arkham Asylum. He tried so hard to be hideous on the streets if Gotham. With untamed hair, dyed putrid green and layers of caked on face paint, hiding that fact that he was young. Possibly younger than Jonathan himself. The former doctor wondered if this was the reason he provoked the guards into beating him so often, to cover his unpainted face with bruises and blood.

"Whatchya doin' Jon-ny-boy," Joker said in that eerie sing-song voice, as he closed a thick book before letting it drop to the floor.

"Nothing,"

"Wanna look at you're file?" he asked, noticing two filing cabinets in the office space.

"Sure," Jonathan moved from, his spot in front of the door and towards Joker.

He grabbed a stack of folders from the cabinet and settled into Dr. Strange's leather chair.

"Let's see," Joker's fingers danced across the files in search of the name Crane, "Aw here," he plucked out a brown folder and handed it to Jonathan, who headed for an armchair to read it in, "Lemme know if there's anything good in there," Joker playfully smacked Jonathan's bottom, much to his surprise.

The former doctor opened his file, Joker spotted his own.

The clown quickly skipped over his make up-less mugshots and straight to Dr. Strange's notes, "Hey Jonny, he mentions you," he began, "Patient has been known to manipulate others sexually, Jonathan Crane has been subject to this as of late," Joker laughed through his words.

"I told you," Jonathan said quickly.

"Yes and I'm so impressed with your insight on my mind Dr. Crane," Joker replied dryly.

Jonathan still took it as a compliment. He opened his file, his mugshots came first and like most mugshots they looked awful. His hair was a mess and his eyes wide, still suffering the effects of fear gas. He vaguely recalled the camera trying to eat him.

Crane turned to the next page, sure enough he had been diagnosed a narcissist by Dr. Strange. The former doctor silently congratulated himself on an accurate diagnoses. However the notes taken by Dr. Strange were somewhat discouraging. They made him out to be some sort of spoiled brat who could not appreciate the fine establishment he was committed to. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

Joker read through his file as well, though not as carefully as Jonathan had. He skipped certain pages in search of more interesting notes about himself. However the more he read they went from slightly amusing to just plain annoying.

'Patient does not like to discuss former love, Harleen Quinzel.'

"Patient seems to exhibit some form of grief over her death. However, small, but still contradictory to his possible anti-social personality disorder.'

The clown made a face and slammed his file shut, tossing it back into the cabinet.

"Do you want to switch folders?" asked Jonathan closing his and offering it to the Joker.

"Nah. There's Nothing good in mine," he laughed slightly, "I think I've got Strange stumped," Joker lied.

"I can believe that," sighed Jonathan.

He placed his folder back in its place and began to look through Dr. Strange's textbooks that Joker had thrown around the room. It had been so long since he had read something of substance.

Jonathan piled a stack of thick books beside him and began flipping through the pages.

"It's like sex for you, isn't it?" Joker watched him from across the room.

"What? No," Jonny looked up from the book for a moment before burring his face in it again, "It's just been a very long time since I've read one,"

"Take some back to your cell," suggested the clown, leaning back in Dr. Strange's chair.

"Really?" Jonathan replied.

"No one's stopping ya," he shrugged.

"True," nodded the former doctor, considering the idea, "And judging by Strange's ability to observe patients I doubt he'll miss these books," a hint of excitement rose in his voice at the thought of some stimulating entertainment in this hell hole.

Joker smiled, picking at his injured lip agian, "You're a nerd,"

Jonathan decided to ignore that comment, having heard it way to often in his childhood. He closed the textbook, deciding that he would simply take them back to his cell. Instead of spending this time with Joker reading, he chose to do some psychoanalyzing.

"Are you alright?" asked Jonathan.

"Never been better. Why?"

"No reason," Jonathan folded his hands across his lap, "It's just that you're covered in blood," he observed.

The clown looked confused, "And you think that's uncommon for me?"

Jonathan supposed it was somewhat of a silly question.

"Leaving my cell got a little messy," he answered the question.

"I see, is that how you were injured?"

"What?" Joker seemed sincerely confused for a few moments, "I didn't get hurt,"

"So what happened to your eyes and your mouth?" Jonny questioned, though his voice was unconcerned. Not that Joker minded the lack of empathy, he himself having none.

"Um it's a game the guards like ta play. It's uh, it's kinda like whack-a-mole... I'm the mole,"

Jonathan nodded, slipping further into his 'Dr. Crane' persona, "And does this bother you?" he asked.

"What's with all the questions Jonny-boy?"

"It just seems as though you aren't well..."

Joker stopped him, "Jonny you told me what a narcissistic personality disorder is, I know you don't really care about my well be-ing,"

"You're right," he replied nonchalantly.

"So uh, what gives then?"

Jonathan thought for a moment, he did not want the Joker to know about what Dr. Strange had told him. He doubted the clown would take to kindly to his mind being spied on by another patient. A strange sounding concept but essentially what the former doctor was doing.

He sighed, "Just reliving my days as a doctor I suppose," he began gathering up his collection of Strange's textbooks, "Maybe I should go someone's going to notice I'm gone,"

"Uh uh," Joker shook his head no, "I've got the key anyway, how do you think you're gettin' back in your cell," he began spinning it around on one finger by the card's lanyard.

Jonathan sat the books on the nearby desk and approached Joker, "Seeing as how you don't care about things like... punishment; could you give me the key so I don't get in trouble,"

Joker smiled slyly, his tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth, "An interesting argument sweets, but uh, I think I need some uh, more convincing... if ya know what I mean?"

Jonathan cringed, "I thought you weren't feeling well,"

"Your words not mine," the clown pointed out, "Besides, you were playing doctor a minute ago... make me better, doc,"

The Joker's advances made Jonathan feel queasy. Did he just sit around in his cell all day coming up with suggestive lines to use on people.

"I'd rather not,"

Joker rolled his eyes, "You're a pussy... a boring pussy. Ungrateful too. After all I've done, it's cuz of me you got all your little books," he sighed, "Here take it," he said extending the key card towards Jonny.

"Thank you," he accepted the key, but upon reaching out his own hand to take it Joker pulled him swiftly onto his lap. Where Jonathan received a startlingly rough and much to his disgust, a bloody kiss.

He then shoved Jonathan off of him, satisfied and giggling at his success.

The former doctor picked himself up from the floor with key card in hand. He frantically wiped his mouth, now horrified that some of the Joker's blood was inside him, as he exited Strange's office.

"Wait," Jonny stopped short, "How are you getting back to into your cell?" he questioned, not out of concern but instead curiosity.

Joker smirked at him, pulled another key card from his pocket and held it up in the air.

"Damn it," Jonathan stormed off.

* * *

Joker decided to take a look at Jonathan's file. His mugshots were terrible, but hilarious. The clown was tempted to slid them into his Arkham uniform pocket. It would give him a good laugh later.

After a short time of reading he found that the notes began repeating themselves a bit, but he supposed what else would a narcissist talk about in therapy but himself. Jonathan complained about Batman, his nightmares and what an awful childhood he had. Joker was only dissapointed to see that there had been no notes taken about him. There should have been, surely Jonny talked about him.

He slid the folder, carefully labeled Crane, Jonathan, back into it's place in the filing cabinet.

Joker layed down in the chair, legs draped over one of it's leathery arms. It was an odd chair, tall, smooth and burgundy in color. The kind of old-style furniture he would expect from Dr. Strange. And people thought the Joker was a theatrical.

His eyes scanned the large, wooden desk before him. It's shiny, polished surface was scattered with papers. That's when a folder caught his eye, the brown ones used for patients just sitting out it the open.

"Well Dr. Strange, clearly you've no respect for patients privacy," he faked a shocked tone of voice.

Joker sat up and pulled the folder across the mountain of paperwork to his lap.

"Let's see who thisss beloongs tooo," he sang to himself.

The clown's smile faded after turning the folder to read the labeled tab. He knit his brow in confusion and then read the name again. It didn't make sense. Quinzel, Harleen.

"What the hell?" he murmered, staring at the label for some time.

Was it possible that Arkham kept records for staff members to? Was this from when Harley worked here?

Slowly Joker peeled back the cover of Harley's folder to find a set of mugshots. Harley's blue eyes glistening with tears and stitches lining her mouth in each photo.

Joker ripped the picture out from under its paperclip, which had held it in place, and looked closer. As if it would make a difference, it was unmistakably Harley Quinn, staring back at him. But he killed her... didn't he?

Joker certainly did not forget that night. Nor did he forget the blood that gushed everywhere. How did she survive that? Then it occurred to the clown that he had survived the very same thing.

Still in disbelief he looked at the page lying beneath Harley's mugshots. It included name, age, date of birth, height, weight, hair color, eye color, medications, crimes committed, on and on, describing Harley. Joker began ripping through the pages, angrily, reading bits and pieces of Dr. Strange's notes as he did.

"Patient expericnes rapid highs and lows in emotions. Patient has nightmares. Patient does not want to speak of Joker,"

He stopped turning pages and began to think about the situation. Harley was alive and in Arkham... so who saved her? Obviously she could not save herself, bound to a chair and bleeding profusely. How did she survive? Who saved her? How did anyone even know where she was?

It only took a moment for a name to come to the sociopath's mind; Jonathan Crane.

* * *

_Sorry, yet again another Harley-free chapter. I miss her too. Probably the next one will have Harley._

_But yaaah a gory scene, oh how I've missed them. As for the guard who gets strangled with a lanyard... I dunno if that's possible but I don't care. In my little world it is. At first he was going to kill people with the straws (I got the idea from the ICP song Sedatives) but I'm really unsure that that's possible... sorry Violent J, I'm skeptical._

_The fanfic I wrote about in the last chapter; the one about Joker celebrating holidays has been changed to one fic instead of a bunch of little shots. I believe its called Celebrate with the Joker. Read and review for im-batman, her fic deserves it. And she proof reads for me, so without her; my fics would not make any sense at all._


	12. Poker Face

Pamela dropped into a metal chair, bolted to the floor and across from Dr. Strange.

"Ah Ms. Isley, good to see you again," he greeted.

"Sorry I can't say the same," she glared at him.

"Remove her restraints please," the doctor said to the guard.

The orderly did as he was told and quietly exited the room.

"So," began Pamela, "What do want?" she crossed her newly freed arms.

"Ms. Quinzel tells me you two have met,"

"And?"

The doctor thought for a moment, "How do I put this... Ms. Quinzel quite possibly holds information that is extremely valuable to me. But after working with her I've found her mental state to be very fragile. Due to her circumstance her trust is low and I-"

"What do you want Strange," interrupted Pamela.

"I want you to talk to Ms. Quinzel. Nothing in particular just get her to talk and you listen, then each night you will report to me," the doctor explained.

Pamela raised an eyebrow, "Why would I help you,"

"Because I can reward you, Ms. Isley,"

"How?"

"With your freedom," answered Strange.

Pamela merely rolled her eyes, "What good would that do to me. My reputation is ruined, mostly because of you," she said with disgust, "What's waiting for me outside of Arkham? Nothing,"

"I cannot help you in that area I'm afraid. All I can do is declare you sane and allow you to go," Strange replied patiently, "I don't ask much of you Ms. Isley,"

Pamela stroked her long red ponytail in thought, pondering whether or not she should give Hugo Strange the satisfaction of her task. After a few minutes she finally replied, "Alright,"

* * *

Later that day, only a few hours after her 'meeting' with Dr. Strange, Pamela sat in the rec room. Strange had assigned her to recreation time with Harley to increase their time together. To say the least, Pam was not thrilled, as if breakfast, lunch and dinner was not enough to be around the pathetic clown girl. Not that she socialized with her, just being in the same room was irritating. But she supposed it would be worth it to be out of the asylum... what she would do from there she was unsure.

Pamela Isley searched the room from her seat on a lumpy arm chair. Amidst the group of deranged women she could not see Harley.

It had been some time since she really looked at these people, her fellow patients. The last time she had was a few months ago when she came to this place. Pamela distinctly remembered her first rec room experience. It had been a scary one. She recalled sitting in this very chair, at the back of the room as far away from the prisoners as she could get. She was not like them; she was by no means one of them.

Pamela hands were literally shaking that first day. The group before her was nothing like the misfit, quirky and mentally afflicted bunch of girls on Girl Interrupted. The mental part was the only common ground they shared. The women of Arkham Asylum were criminally insane. They had committed horrible crimes to end up here. And to top it all off, every one of them looked the part.

There were not nearly as many females in Arkham Asylum as there were male prisoners. But that made it worse. It proved to a frightened Pamela Isley that only the really bad cases of insanity in women were sent away to the asylum. So why was she sent there?

Pamela quickly distracted herself from the memory. All those fears had passed anyway within a month in Arkham. She was of course well aware of her 'neighbors' acts of brutal murder, torture and in the case of one women she knew of; cannibalism. But she was no longer terrified. She learned to adapt and do her best to keep to herself. At least until that Harley Quinn showed up.

Pam was unsure of what it was that bothered her so much about Harleen Quinzel, or simply Harley, as she insisted on being called. Maybe it was her relationship with the Joker. Pamela hated seeing news coverage on the two and having to watch security tapes and clips from police cameras of the clowns, however short. Harley would fawn over him, staring with adoration and love as he carelessly played with her hair like she was some kind of doll instead of a person. Maybe it was knowing that Harley let Joker abuse her as Pam watched those tapes. Maybe it was Harley's blatant stupidity, after all, everyone knew the Joker and yet she thought he could love her. And maybe Pamela Isley hated Harley because there was something so familiar in the scarred girl's story.

Just then Harley walked through the rec room doors. Karen the nurse, once again by her side.

"Go sit down Harley," she heard the nurse say.

Harley nodded weakly and searched for a seat.

Pamela sighed, knowing this was going to be a long day, "Harley," she called half heartedly, "Come sit with me," the words unbelievable to even her own ears.

For a few moments Harley paused, simply staring at Pam like a deer caught in headlights, unsure of whether to go forward or just run away.

"Go on," Karen said before exiting the room.

Slowly, Harley came over. She sunk into a chair beside Pamela.

"The stitches are gone I see," Pam said noticing the pale scars on Harley's cheeks.

She nodded.

"And the cast too,"

Another small nod.

"So I haven't seen you in the cafeteria in a while. Where have you been?"

"Sedated," Harley's voice was quiet, she stared down at the floor.

Pamela asked a few more uncomfortable questions that she did not care to know the answers to. Harley always responded with a nod or a shoulder shrug, speaking as little as possible and avoiding Pamela's eyes.

"Damn it Harley," the red head finally groaned, "What is wrong with you?"

Another shrug of her narrow shoulders.

"Can you even look at me while I'm talking to you? It makes me feel like you've got something to hide," Pam complained, "For all I know you've got a fork in your pocket and any second you're going to take it to my neck," she rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, frustrated, "Heard your boyfriend pulled that trick the other week," she said nonchalantly.

"My boyfriend?" Harley spoke up.

"Glad to see I got your attention; you said two words. Good for you,"

"What do you mean... my boyfriend?"

"The Joker, or what do you call him... Mr. J," the red head rolled her eyes again in disgust, "He stabbed a guard in the neck... oh, I don't know when,"

"He's here? In, in Arkham?" Harley was looking at Pam now.

Her blue eyes wide, scarred mouth agape in anticipation for Pamela's response.

"Yes,"

Harley's voice shrank into nothing but a feeble squeak.

"You didn't know that," Pam said sitting up and facing her.

"Oh my God," Harley finally uttered, "Oh shit, shit, shit,"

"Calm down Harley,"

"I'm spose ta be dead," her voice escalated, "Do you have any idea what he'll do ta me if he gets a holda me in here! Oh, fuck, I can't breathe!"

"Yes you can Harley, if you can talk you can breathe," Pamela failed to assure her, "Nurse," she called over to the nurse's station for help, remaining surprisingly calm.

"You don't get it. You don't get it Pamela!" she cried, "The Joker... he'll be so mad," she panted, probably hyperventilating.

"He can't get you Harley," she looked back toward the nurses, "Hey nurse. Somebody,"

Harley was petrified. The thought of the Joker being on the streets of Gotham was frightening enough, now knowing that they were in the same building was truly a terrifying prospect. Harley knew that her clown boyfriend had intended to kill her. If he knew that he was not successful... she did not want to think about it.

Pamela did her best to calm down the visibly shaking girl before her. But assuring Harley that Joker was locked safely away from her did not go far. Harley of all people knew that he was more than capable of escaping.

As fear rose inside her and all the thoughts of what could happen to her, Harley's whimpers rose to panicked screams.

"Help, we need help over here!" Pam yelled towards the nurses who finally noticed the commotion.

One of the two nurses began to call guards on a walkie-talkie while the other grabbed a syringe of clear liquid.

The nurse with the sedatives rushed across the room, gave the syringe a quick flick and hastily injected it into Harley's right arm. Thankfully she had been too panicked to protest or even notice what was happening for that matter.

In seconds Harley was limp in her chair. Her eye's half-lidded and rolling back into their sockets, just in time for a few guards to come take her back to her cell.

* * *

"Did you hear he got out last night?" a guard asked his fellow employee.

"Everybody's heard, two nurses and three guards dead; it's all over Arkham,"

"It's all over Gotham, reporters are practically pitching tents outside the gates," the guard scoffed, he glanced into the Joker's cell.

Joker sat towards the back of his cell, resting against the wall in a stiff straight jacket. Orderlies had hurried to confine him inside it shortly after discovering he had been out of his cell, as if it could do any good.

The thing Joker found hilarious was the fact that he had not been caught out of the cell. He slipped out of his cage, spent part of the night in Dr. Strange's office and entered his cell once again. It was not until the next shift of guards 'reported for duty' in the morning that anyone noticed the sedated employees or the mess in Joker's cell.

Of course everyone was all bent out of shape since Joker murdered five people; three on purpose the other two were accidental, a result of to much sedative in the wrong places. There was talk all over Arkham Asylum of employees quitting after the latest Joker scare. There was always a risk when working with these criminally insane prisoners, but there was no one like the Joker. Dr. Strange was a wreck trying to convince his workers to stay; though he did his best not to show it. But despite his efforts, more guards, nurses and even a doctor or two were resigning.

"I'm thinking about quitin'," the other one said after a few moments.

"Really?" his younger companion asked with some surprise in his voice.

"Yeah. I mean, I know I need this job, what with the economy being the way it is... but I just don't think it's worth it. Not with all the guards he's taken out,"

Being in his mid-twenties, the other guard could not understand this, since in his own eyes he was almost invincible, "Well," he looked back to the clown, "I'm not scared. In here, he's got nothing. No weapons, no explosive, no crazy-ass henchmen,"

"He's killed three guards... no four, remember? The other week," the more realistic guard reminded.

"Luck," was the other orderly's response, "Or something like that. I mean, Look at 'im," he gestured towards the Joker, "He may be all scary with his make up and knives but in Arkham... naw. Here he's just a scarred up punk," explained the guard before turning towards Joker, "You hearin' me punk?"

"Don't piss him off," ordered the older guard, who was of course ignored.

"Huh?"

Joker nodded, "I here ya," he popped his lips after quickly licking them, "Wanna know something? The guards like you are the easiest to kill," he scrunched up his face in an expression of mocked disgust.

"You threatening me?"

"Nooo, just making conversation. As I was saying, the guards like you are easiest to kill... do you uh, wanna know whhhyyy?"

"Why," the guard smirked, humoring the patient.

"Cuz you're cocky and angry. But don't feel bad, most of the guards here are... I think Dr. Strange like's it like that. You make him seem smarter,"

"Let's go," grumbled the older guard who was once again ignored.

Joker struggled to his feet, "Yeah, ya don't need to be smart to do your job and Strange highers the dumbest of the dumb," he smirked, now right in front of the glass which separated the three.

"I am not stupid," the guard glared.

"Oooh defensive, have I struck a nerve? But of course you're stupiiiid," Joker licked his left scar swiftly up and down, "If you were smart you wouldn't bull shit in front of my cell, no. If you were smart you would know that I could get out and shove that pen in your pocket half way up your nose. Or, or maybe I could just blow your head off with the revolver under my pillow,"

The guard's anger turned to confusion for a moment, "You don't have a revolver," he said, slight skepticism in his voice.

"Don't IIII? How do you know where I went last night? Hm? After all no one knew I was misplaced until this morning?"

The guard simply looked puzzled.

Joker smiled at this, looking from one guard to the other, "Ya see gentlemen, that's the most immm-por-tant part of the game. The poker face. You can't tell whether I'm bluffing or not... sooo will you take the chance and search my cell?"

"NO, I'm leaving," the more cautious guard threw his hands up in frustration and left.

Joker licked his lips, "And what about you?" he asked the young guard, "Are you gonna be a hero... or are you just not willing to risk it, to uh, possibly sacrifice yourself? Hm?"

The Joker's mind games were precise without being planned. He had only known this man for five minutes and yet somehow had him figured out. He hit his ego where it hurt, questioned his intelligence and then his honor. Joker could not help but smile and even suppress a giggle, he was sure he had him. The clown's only regret was that such a wonderfully crafted game was being wasted on this particular lummox of a guard.

He licked his lips with anticipation. His head tipped slightly downward with his dark eyes staring into the guard's, challenging him. Joker did not think of what he would do to the man once he entered the cell, which he was sure he would. It was too soon to decide. Besides that the clown would rather savor the moment, he reveled in the adrenaline rush that came before the kill.

The guard opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short. Then he rolled his eyes and stormed off.

"Wait, where ya going?" Joker did his best not to stumble over his words, despite his surprise, "So, so you're a coward huh? That's it. Isn't it? Gonna let people die cuz you're scared to come in here. Well, thanks ta you the next pretty little nurse that comes by to give me meds is gettin' face full of led," he called pressing up against the glass as much as he could to watch for a reaction from the guard.

He stopped walking once, but continued on his way and making the Joker even more angry.

"Anybody I kill- it's, it's gonna be your fault now!" he yelled though by now the guard was to far away to hear him.

Joker growled and kicked the glass. He did not really have a gun; either the guard knew it or he just did not care. Joker hoped it was the latter. At least that way he could be satisfied with the fact that he was right about human nature. But he had a feeling the guard was simply calling his bluff.

In addition to the disappointment of a very unsuccessful hunt; the Joker still had matters to attend to with Jonathan Crane.

Thankfully for him the guard situation and the Jonathan one had no correlation. It would be just as easy for the Joker to escape his cell and pay the good doctor a visit now as it would have been if he'd killed that guard.

Despite having his cell cleaned after the deaths of Rob and Cheryl; the Joker managed to hang onto one key card and that's all he would need.

* * *

_I was like a fanfiction writing zombie during this one, as well as the next chapter. I stayed up all night and then into the next morning typing two chapters... why i dunno. I'm writing this author's note later because it will probably make more sense this way. Sorry to im-batman (proof reader of pure win) if this makes little sense, it was five in the morning._

_Anyway, finally another Harley part. I hadn't realized how little I was using her. I had not planned on such a large Pamela Isley part but in my trance of fanworks I thought it was a good idea to give a tiny glimpe into her back story... very tiny. _

_Oh and I'm not dissing Girl Interrupted or anything. Its actually one of my favorite movies. But as I was writing the scene where Pam is looking at the other inmates I imagined that they were kind of a scary crowd. I did not want the image of Winona Rider in reader's minds._


	13. Dead

"Haaar-leeeeey," she heard a voice, "Harl-eee-eeeey," the voice echoed, "Harley Quinn!" it finally yelled, in a commanding and frightening tone.

Harley's eyes flew open and she found herself in the dark, a rotting smell in the air. It hung so thick she practically choked on it.

She gagged at the foul odor, "Who's there," she said after regaining composure.

"Oh good, you're awake. I thought you'd never get up," the voice was so near her, yet she could not pinpoint its direction.

"I said who's there," Harley repeated.

"But I never said knock knock," giggled echoed in the darkness, "Haaarleeeyy," the voice whined, "its meee,"

"I don't know who you are, just tell me,"

There were a few more giggles before the voice replied, "Its Mistah J," he said mocking her accent.

Harley gasped, she sat up and assuming she was in her cell stumbled towards where the door should have been.

"Where are you going puddin'," Joker stopped her, though Harley could not see him she felt his leather gloves on her skin, he must have been escaping, "Stay with me, I missed ya," he reached up to stroke her scars, despite the gloves his hands felt icy cold.

"You did not. You tried to kill me," Harley choked the words out, "That's why your here, that's what you want,"

Joker removed his hands from her delicate face, "I don't understand?"

"You want to finish what you started,"

"What?"

"Stop it!" yelled Harley, "I don't wanna play games anymore. Just do your worst, I don't care. Cuz ya know what Joker I wish you was dead too,"

"But Harley," he began fumbling with something above them.

Harley looked upwards, trying to see what he was doing in the blackness. The Joker succeeded in his task and Harley found herself staring straight into a single light bulb hanging over her.

"I'm already dead," the Joker finished his sentence.

Harley, confused by the statement, looked away from the glowing bulb of light and to the Joker before her. She gasped at the sight.

Head cocked to one side, like a confused puppy he stood in full costume. But the bold, dark purple was faded, torn and splashed with old blood. The clown's complexion was tones of blue and grey, flesh seemed rotted away on certain parts of his face. Patches of mold and purple dark circles replaced black grease paint around empty eye sockets.

"You're surprised," he smirked, "C'mere,"

He pulled her close, pressing his cold, purple lips against her own. Harley struggled against him, disgusted as maggots squirmed into her mouth. She pulled away, spitting the fat, white parasites onto the floor.

"Oh, don't be so pretentious Harl," Joker said, "You've got no room to be when there's a worm the size of my finger crawling up your nose,"

Harley grasped at her face, freeing a long earthworm from her nostril. She immediately flick it to the floor with the maggots and she suddenly noticed something; her fingers, they were nothing but bone. She gasped and stumbled backwards, falling down.

"Sheesh Harl what's with you taday,"

"Wha- wha-, how did this happen? When, w-when did this happen," Harley stuttered staring at her bare palms.

"UH, Harley, remember these," he bent down and traced her 'permanent smile'.

"B-but you didn't kill me,"

"Buuut I did," Joker corrected.

"No you didn't,"

"Yeah I did,"

"No you-" a cold, gloved hand went over Harley's mouth.

"Haaarley," Joker sighed, smacking his lips, "I'm not gonna argue this; ya died. But don't feel bad, cuz I'm in the same boat," his tongue darted across his rotting scars, "Aaaand no one sent flowers. Nobody cared," he sat cross-legged in front of her, "Ya know why Harl? Cuz all we have is each other. And ta be honest with ya babe, I'm not too loyal. But I guess ya know that," he stood up and stretched, causing bones to creak and pop out of place, "I tell ya though it's uh, kinda surprising just how many dead people are walkin' around this place. They're everywhere. Jonny Crane, he's pretty much deceased. There's a couple guards in the basement. Oh, and your new buddy Pam,"

"She's not dead I just saw her this morning," protested Harley.

"Some people are better at hiding it than others, hun," Joker added.

"No more pet names," growled Harley, suddenly bolder since according to Joker; she was already dead.

Joker crossed his arms, "Who knew Harley Quinn could hold a grudge? And why do I find it so sexy?"

He slipped out off the light illuminating the middle of the room. From her position on the floor, Harley felt the clown behind her. He sat down close to her, snaking his arms around her waist and nuzzling at her neck.

"Whatdya say we get outa here," he purred.

"Where is 'here' exactly," Harley asked, genuinely confused.

In the back of her mind a little voice as assuring her that this was nothing more than a nightmare. Yet she could not seem to convince herself of this fact as she looked into the never-ending, pitch black around her.

"Arkham, of course,"

"But I thought we were dead,"

"We are,"

"I don't get it," desperation rose in Harley's voice and panic in her mind.

She wanted to run, but she was trapped in the Joker's embrace. Trapped here, in Arkham, with him.

"If I said I'd take you baaaack. Would you come with me?" his voice was low and somehow comforting to her, despite the smell of death escaping his cold mouth.

Harley closed her eyes in confusion, frustration and fear. She had to think; maybe if she concentrated she could wake herself. This was a difficult task though, thanks to the sedatives she would be imprisoned in her own nightmares for ours.

"Well?"

"No," Harley finally said.

"No?" Joker let go and circled around her, he stood once again in the light.

"I can't be with you anymore. I think, I think you ruined my life," she stuttered become more confused by the second, her memory fading.

"You think I ruined yooouur liiife," repeated Joker, receiving a short nod from Harley, "Makes sense," the clown shrugged, "But you do realize I'm the closest thing to uh, looove as you'll ever get," he toyed with the light bulb, "I mean look at chya," he shined the light at her, "Like I said before, aaall we've got is eeeeach oth-er," Joker reminded in a sing-song voice.

He let the bulb go it swung about, bouncing light around the room. Harley could not see an end to this space though. The room divided into several hallways; each of them lacking an end.

"Guess I'll be going then," Joker prodded a scar with his tongue into it burst through, he caught the swinging light bulb, "See ya," he pulled the chain hanging from Harley's only source of light, extinguishing it and leaving her in the dark once again.

She did not say a word as he left. She did not scream or cry, begging Joker to come back or in fear of the darkness. Harley remained still, her hands gliding over the icy flesh on her face and the stiff scar tissue blemishing it.

A few hours later she would very slowly regain consciousness. Even later than that she would gain her balance and the room would stop spinning. Then Harley would sit up, confirm to herself that she was alive but not well and lay back down in silence to ponder if the Joker of her nightmares was right.

Funny, how she had not seen him, the Joker's physical being, in months and still he was still getting to her.

* * *

_First of all I want to make it known that I'm in no way trying to copy Lauralot. For those of you who read her fics you know that in one of them (Shadow Selves, I think) features Jonathan Crane having a dream about undead Joker. Though Harley's dream is similar I would never want to copy Lauralot, my fics can't even compare to the awesomeness of her's and if you haven't read them yet (that means you im-batman) then you must... like right after you finish my author's note._

_So to further explain Harley's dream: it came to me while I was writing the previous chapter and mentioned Girl Interrupted. One of the final scenes just popped into my head where Winona Ryder's character tells Angelina Jolie's character that she's already dead. I like that scene and I thought it fit the Joker since I found the Lisa character slightly similar to Heath Ledger's Joker. _

_Anyway the Joker character is essentially 'dead inside'. He doesn't care about anyone and no one cares about him. (Except Harley Quinn who in this fic is even resenting him a bit) _

_I also like the idea of Joker continuing to pick apart Harley's mind, even when he's not physically there._

_And last but not least the dream sequence is meant to bring up a question of human life, if some is valuable than others. The Joker presents to Harley his always grim outlook on society, telling her that no one else will love her because of what she's done, what she looks like, who she is. Of course this is not really the Joker telling her these things but Harley's own subconscious, guilt, fears, ect. the Joker is just a visual for these things, becoming a living (or rather undead) metaphor for Harley to see and experience. The same went for my last Harley dream. It's all the Joker's beliefs still stuck in her mind, confusing her._


	14. Fire Extinguishers and Broken Bones

"Let's make this fast," Pamela ordered, needing to get a word of disapproval in.

"So you were in the rec room with Ms. Quinzel," Dr. Strange began as he adjusted his notepad, "What did you learn,"

"Harley doesn't want to talk much; I can't be expected to have her life story after talking for ten minutes,"

"Ten minutes," the doctor repeated, "That's all,"

"Yeah, I mentioned Joker and apparently she didn't know he was here,"

"I see," Dr. Strange wrote something, "And just how did she handle that,"

"Horribly," Pam responded, "She screamed and cried, said I had no idea what he would do to her is he found out she survived. She said she was supposed to be dead like she failed in someway by not, well, dieing. I thought that was odd, not to mention disgusting. If I ever meet that man I might just have give him a good kick to the balls," she said nonchalantly, "Pardon me for being unlady-like," Pamela added.

"In the defense of Ms. Quinzel?"

"No. I'd kick him because from what I can tell he sounds like a male chauvinistic, slut," Pam explained calmly, "Can I leave now?"

"Not just yet," Dr. Strange continued to scribble down notes, "Tell me is that all you and Ms. Quinzel talked about,"

"Yes, if you can consider her panic attack talking," Pam paused, "Shouldn't you have heard about that, I mean, she had to be sedated and everything,"

"I am a very busy man with many patients. And several books have gone missing from my library I'm trying to find what happened to them," he explained, "Let's maintain a subject of Ms. Quinzel and the Joker. She did not say anything else about him?"

"Nope,"

The doctor sighed, "Well, thank you for your cooperation; I will see you tomorrow night after you speak with Ms. Quinzel. And this time, talk more about the Joker,"

* * *

Jonathan Crane waited until darkness fell in Arkham Asylum. He watched the ceiling as the cell lights flickered and dimmed for the night, that's when he got out his books.

Of course the reading light was poor, probably bad for his eyes, he knew it. But the chances of him getting caught with Dr. Strange's books were fewer once the lights went out.

From underneath his thin, asylum cot he retrieved a stack of three, thick books and slid them towards his cell door. As a small amount of light from the hall shined through his window Jonathan sat with the books.

He picked up one book which appeared very old. Its information on the human mind most likely outdated, but nevertheless a fascinating read. He opened it up and began reading, the book's spine weak and the pages smelled musty but old books were some of his favorites.

Jonathan read quickly, while still absorbing every page, every word and every pen and ink diagram inside the old book.

About ten pages into it he heard footsteps approaching his cell, they were coming quickly.

Crane quickly pushed the books back to their hiding place and attempted to seem inconspicuous by climbing into bed and closing his eyes in a fake sleep.

Jonathan heard small click of the lock and the hiss of an opening cell door. The former doctor hoped that a prisoner had escaped and the guard's were simply checking cells. Otherwise a guard in his cell at this time of night could mean trouble.

He kept his eyes closed, hoping his 'guest' would soon disappear off to other work.

Patiently he waited until he heard the door close. He inwardly sighed with relief, but it was a short lived moment of bliss.

Instead Jonathan was jerked from his cot and slammed harshly against the wall.

He opened his eyes, before him was the Joker

* * *

Pamela was back in her cell. She pulled back her stiff grey sheet and climbed into bed. She tossed and turned trying to find a comfortable position for the night. A difficult task on an Arkham Asylum cot. Finally with a groan of frustration, she tossed the sheet completely aside and her pillow with it.

Rubbing her temples in attempts to relieve stress she sat up and leaned against the wall.

Her time with Dr. Strange had left her angry and restless. She hated him, for several reasons. Pam wondered if she was doing the right thing by making this deal with him. She knew that it was not fair to Harley, but neither was Pam's sentence to Arkham. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. She had little sympathy for the clown girl. But working with Strange felt like she was selling her soul to the devil himself. She was frustrated that she had allowed herself to be so swayed by his offer of freedom, after the part that snake had played in putting her here in the first place.

Her freedom was not such a wonderful prize when she really thought about it. She would have nothing once she left the asylum.

Pamela Isley used to have it all, intelligence, beauty and a fantastic job doing what she loved most. None of that mattered now. Not when everyone in Gotham knew that the former botanist had been committed to Arkham Asylum until declared 'sane'.

She should have never taken that job. Pam should have taken her interest in plant life elsewhere and opened a greenhouse or something. Instead she wasted it in the name of science and look where that got her.

Maybe that's what she could do when Dr. Strange released her from Arkham, open up a green house. She could use her savings in the bank to buy a nice little farm outside of Gotham where she would raise vegetables and flowers then sell the fruits of her labor. But the more Pam thought about it the more she realized that would not do. There were not many people who would purchase plants from an ex-Arkham prisoner. This brought her back to a very pessimistic place, once again. Pamela wondered if there was any point in leaving Arkham.

She sighed with frustration, wishing the sleeping pills she had been give before bed would soon kick in.

But as long as she was up she might as well be productive. Or at least as productive as one could be locked in a cell.

Until she officially came to a decision on her agreement with Hugo Strange, Pam decided that she should think about what to say to Harley tomorrow.

Strange had said to talk more about the Joker, not one of Pamela's favorite subjects. Not to mention a pointless one to spend time on.

Obviously the doctor wanted to know about the infamous clown prince of crime, there was not a shrink in Gotham City who didn't want to, but what would Harley know? Sure, she had spent more time with the Joker than anybody, but did she really know any of the clown's 'secrets'? It was unlikely. Pamela was sure of the way that relationship worked. Harley was nothing more than a toy to Joker. No matter what she did or said or thought she would never be anything more. He used her, led her on and all for his own purposes. The Joker would always be one step ahead of Harley. He would always been the one in-control, stronger, smarter...

Pamela's thoughts trailed off. Or maybe she was just reflected on relationships of her own past instead of Harley's, maybe both.

She yawned, finally beginning to feel weary. She laid down, not bothering to retrieve her blanket or pillow, they provided little to no comfort anyway. And soon she was asleep on the bare mattress.

* * *

Before the former doctor could utter a word the clown shoved whatever it was he had been holding, against his neck, pinning him securely to the wall.

"Joker," Jonathan croaked, eyeing the object at his throat.

It appeared to be a fire extinguisher, in the darkness. Crane eyed a slick, wet substance catching the small amount of hallway light on its surface, blood. The Joker was obviously finding more ways to use a fire extinguisher, the clown using it for its intended use was just preposterous.

"Where were you the night Haaar-ley diiied," Joker's voice was calm but with concealed anger, it dared to erupt.

The tone of voice sent shivers up Jonathan's spine, that strange, nasal voice mixed with the gravelly tones of suppressed rage.

"I escaped your hideout," his said with effort, Joker's fire extinguisher pressing hard on his throat, "I just wandered around Gotham," Jonathan left out the part about being tied to a phone booth for the sake of his pride.

"And then what'd you do?" Joker demanded, growing closer.

His eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim cell. Surrounded by purple bruises from beatings and dark circles from not sleeping or eating, the blood-shot white surrounding his deep hazel irises stood out. Joker's long, twisted scars left odd shadows across his pale complexion. His lips were bloodied before a row of equally bloody teeth. Whoever he had originally used the fire extinguisher on must have put up somewhat of a fight.

"Answer me," he growled putting more force on his throat.

"I-I got caught, they took me back to, to Arkham," Crane gagged, breathing heavily through his nose in attempt to gain oxygen.

"You're lying," he removed the fire extinguisher from Jonathan's throat.

The former doctor gasped, finally taking in air, "No I'm n-," the clown stopped him, grabbing a fist full of Jonathan's dark hair.

"Don't talk back ta me," he snarled, forcing the shorter man's head back somewhat so he was looking directly at his face, "Nooo-ow, lllet's try this ooone mooore time," Joker's voice became once again, eerie and calm, his lips twitched slightly with anger, "What did you do the night I killed Har-ley Quinn,"

Jonathan eyed the fire extinguisher, still in Joker's hand, the one that was not gripping his hair, that is. He shuddered to think what the clown could do with it.

The worst part about the whole situation was that Jonathan had no idea where the Joker was going with this. What was his point and why was he mad at Jonathan?

"I told you already," his voice shook, he had never been this scared, not since Batman poisoned him with fear gas.

Joker did not move for some time. He cocked his head to one side, staring intently at Jonathan. For a few moments his gaze shifted, he looked to his left at nothing in particular. His tongue dragging across a blood-stained scar before grazing the inside of his mutilated flesh. He let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. Then his turned back to Jonathan abruptly and animal like.

It happened to fast and to suddenly for Crane to prepare for. He heard the sharp crack of his leg breaking before he felt any pain. Joker let him slip to the floor for only a moment, then grabbed him by the collar of his Arkham uniform, still holding the fire extinguisher he just used to snap the other man's leg.

Jonathan let out a whimper in pain and fear when the Joker jerked him up into a sitting position.

"You're the only one who knew wheeerrrre we weeerre," he said in a low voice, "So stop lying to me," he slammed Jonathan's head into the wall behind him, making his vision swim.

"Wh-why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" cried Jonathan.

"You're in no position to be queeessstioning me Jonathan Crane-uh," Joker pushed the end of the fire extinguisher into Jonathan's broken leg.

He gasped in pain, squirming beneath the clown's weapon.

"Stop it," Crane yelled, "Just tell me what I did,"

With Jonathan's outburst came the fire extinguisher again. This time to his face. He could hear the distinct and sickening sound of more bones breaking, this time his nose. Blood gushed from it, running into his mouth.

"Do you want the whole fucking asylum hear you?!" Joker snarled, grabbing Jonathan's jaw with his free hand and once again forcing him to look at him.

The intense pain in his leg and now his face made him wretch, hot bile rose in his throat. The Joker before him blurred in and out of his sight.

"Do you?" he repeated, becoming with in centimeters of Jonathan's face.

"No," was his weak response.

"Har-ley is alive-uh," Joker's tongue darted quickly out of his mouth like a snake, "Some-bod-y had to have got her to a hos-pital before she bled to death. Yo-oou knew wheeere shee wasss," If Jonathan weren't in such intense pain he would have made a mental note of the way Joker's words seemed to be drawn out more with his increasing rage. But right now the only thing on the former doctor's mind was his fear of what the clown would do next.

"I didn't. I didn't go back there, I swear," he said with difficulty, his face becoming more bruised and swollen by the minute.

"Then who the hell did, Crane?" Joker yelled in his face.

"I-I don't know,"

"Not good enough," he let go of Jonathan and slammed the fire extinguisher into the man's ribs.

With a sharp intake of breath he fell to the floor, clutching his side, "I don't know what happened. How am I supposed to know what happened?" he groaned between gasps of agony.

Joker cast the weapon aside, pitching the fire extinguisher across the room. It crashed loudly against the cement floor and wall. The mad clown paced in short laps around the cell, watching his prey suffer on the floor.

Jonathan rolled over to his good side and then managed to sit up somewhat, with the support of his cot. He began coughing up blood until he completely threw up. The physical exertion of his stomach expelling its contents made his ribs ache worse. He was in the process of throwing up a mix of blood and whatever the asylum had served for dinner once again when Joker grabbed his wrist.

The former doctor being significantly smaller than the clown knew it was no use to fight whatever he about to do. He could not get the tight grip on his wrist released even if he tried.

"Please stop," he finally begged, not an easy thing for Crane, a narcissist to do.

"Tell meee what you did-uh," Joker's words were precise. He glared at him, head tipped downward and eyes facing up, making him resemble a dog about to attack.

"I told you damn it,"

With that Joker grabbed Jonathan's littlest finger and bent it the wrong way until he heard a satisfying pop.

"Oh, oh god," moaned Crane.

"Tell me what you did," he demanded through gritted and bloody teeth.

"Nothing," screamed the former doctor causing Joker to move onto the next finger, snap.

Jonathan wished Scarecrow would show up. He usually did at times like this. The alter ego had always been a coping mechanism for abuse. But he was at times a coward, especially when it came to the Clown Prince of Crime. He could talk a big game but when he was face to face with the most dangerous man in Gotham things were much different. It would not have saved Jonathan anyway; the Scarecrow was in no way a physical match to the Joker.

"If you did noth-ing-uh, then who saved that little whore? Huh?"

Pop, another finger broke.

Jonathan's vision blurred, he could barely see through all the colors before him. His heart pounded fast, his body grew rapidly hot, so hot he could not stand it and then so cold he thought he would freeze. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip, mingling with blood from his injured nose. He was passing out; maybe it would be best that way. He did not want to be around when the Joker finally finished him off.

He was thankful though, that right now his life was not flashing before his eyes, as it supposedly did before sudden death. Jonathan would not want to recall certain memories in his final moments. Instead his mind was working itself into a frenzy. His nerves were shattering, Jonathan was losing control and he even began to hallucinate, despite medication he was taking in Arkham. He noticed a swarm of black flying creatures, congregated at one corner of his cell.

"Bats," he breathed.

Then it came to him; Bats.

"What?" Joker snapped, cocking his head to one side.

"Bats- Batman. Batman caught me. He, he asked me where you were. I t-told him," Jonathan said through labored breaths, "Batman saved Harley,"

Joker stared at him, gripping Jonathan's last good finger on his right hand. The former doctor could not read his expression and not just because he was ducking in and out of consciousness.

The clown prince's brows knit; he sucked on his scarred bottom lip in thought. Finally he looked toward Jonathan, an almost confused look on his face and then angry again. He dropped the hand of broken, dislocated fingers and went out the door. As quickly as he had come, he was gone again.

The clown's victim should have felt relieved, but he was in far too much pain to feel that. He stared at the cell door; Joker had left it wide open. Then his blue eyes rolled back and he finally passed out.

* * *

_Last time I went over this, __fanfiction__ was hav__ing__ some technical difficulties; some of my words were runn__ing__ together and they would not let me correct them. So lemme know if that's a problem._

_A little bit more Pamela __backstory__, just another extremely tiny part. A little Jonathan Crane __backstory__ too, the abuse th__ing__. As well as him not want__ing__ his life to flash before his eyes._

_Jonathan pass__ing__ out is based on my own experience hav__ing__ panic attacks and pass__ing__ out. I thought I'd say that in case everybody was like __whaaat__... apparently I have mental breakdowns oddly._


	15. Link to Humanity

"Haaarley," Joker called just above a whisper.

Carefully he pushed her cell door shut with a soft click before glancing at the bed and the sleeping form in it. Harley lay on her side, her sheets pulled up to the curve of her hip, Joker could barley make out her features in the darkened lighting though.

He shoved the stolen key card back into his pocket, "Harley Quu-iin," he called again, "You awake pun-kin?"

She did not respond.

Slowly the clown made his way to the side of her bed and crouched to his knees. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could faintly see the curved scars climbing upward on either side of her mouth. Never before had he seen someone, other than himself, bearing this facial scarring. No one else lived through the ordeal which caused the mutilated skin. At least not that he knew of.

Gently he raised his hand just above the bumpy flesh on Harley's face. Careful not to awake her, he ran an index finder up and down one side feeling the scar tissue beneath. It intrigued him. Cradling her jaw in his hand he felt the scarring with his thumb drawing closer and bolder as he did.

"You crazy little bitch," he mused with a smile.

Harley's scars were as real as the clown prince's own, thick, numb scar tissue for the entire world to see. She could no longer hide Harley Quinn, just as he could not hide the Joker. He just thought he would feel more satisfied than this.

He stood back up and quietly headed for the door before turning around halfway. Joker stared back at Harley asleep in bed and then approached her once more. Impulsiveness drew him back, he could not help it.

He ran is fingers across her scars again before carefully climbing into the other side of the bed. The stiff mattress creaked but Harley stayed fast asleep.

Joker laid down behind her, at first leaning on his arm and examining Harley's scars from a different view. They were not nearly as bad as his own, they were very similar. He cut Harley's with more precision than his had been created with. The two sides of her mouth were practically symmetrically, like a scarred frame around her full lips. The scar tissue was lighter in comparison to the Joker's and somewhat smoother than his from better medical attention or patience in the healing process, either one. The scars definitely did not lack the small knots in Harley's injured flesh that made Joker unable to stop touching.

Eventually however, he lay down, no longer leaning against his arm. Joker let his finger run slowly from Harley's scar down her neck, followed by her arms and then her waist.

Joker did not want to be here right now, he did not want to touch her so freely. But the temptation of the forbidden fruit before him was too great. Every time he told himself he would leave Harley's cell his hand wandered further.

He slipped his hand upwards into her shirt, feeling the bare skin beneath and the dozens of other scars he had also made. Significantly more shallow in comparison to the ones across her face, but deep enough to feel their shape. After that Joker brushed Harley's long hair out of the way and brought his face closer to the curve in her delicate neck. Kissing it gently, feeling the small scars left on it as he wrapped his arm around her, bringing himself as close as he could.

"Harley," he breathed into her neck, "I really hate you for this,"

* * *

Jonathan Crane woke up started and temporarily blinding by the bright lights of the emergency room. He closed his eyes once again, without much of a choice considering how swollen they were.

As he regained consciousness he became more aware of the pain. Every inch of his body hurt. Even breathing hurt, it proved difficult too since he found himself restricted with bandages.

"What happened?" Jonathan thought to himself.

"Joker happened," Scarecrow replied, "Got the best of you again Jonathan, can't say I didn't warn ya,"

"But... you didn't," observed Jonathan; Scarecrow was often absent in Arkham Asylum thanks to drugs.

"Oh. Right. Whatever. So I wonder if we look as bad as you feel."

Jonathan made an attempt to move but failed miserably. Instead he forced more pain through his body.

"Probably," he mentally groaned in pain, his voice had not seemed to find his body yet.

"And to think, you had a little crush on him," taunted his alter ego.

If Crane had felt strong enough to be indignant he would have been, "Did not," he replied.

"Did so,"

"I was merely interested his psychosis. Anyone of my profession would be after all... especially with that condescending rat Strange taking him as his patient,"

"Whatever," growled Scarecrow, "You made us look like an idiot,"

"No, not true. We are the victim, he attacked us,"

"You," Scarecrow added, "He attacked you. And you are the one who had to make a scene,"

It was true. By the time a few guards coming in for their shifts found Jonathan he was crumpled in a corner like a broken doll. Delirious with pain he was begging for mercy from imaginary attackers, Joker being one of them.

"Well at least I'm not a coward Scarecrow,"

"Coward? you sent me away with all the meds you let them cram down your throat,"

Jonathan sighed, "I don't know why I even talk to you,"

"I don't know why you won't listen," responded the alter ego, "If you let me take control once in a while we wouldn't be in this mess,"

"Yeah we would be on the streets trying to out run giant bats and unhappy drug dealers,"

"Ooooh shut up Jonathan. Look, we need to think of a way to get that clown back for this,"

* * *

Joker awoke to find himself unusually warm for the cold, damp Arkham basement. He blinked a few times in the dark room and a curvy silhouette of a woman before him, his arm draped lazily over her waist. And yet somehow the clown was not surprised. Of course 'surprised' emotions did not often come easily to him. Joker recalled his venture from the depths of Arkham to get a look at Harley Quinn and realized he had fallen asleep beside her. He rolled his eyes at his own actions, frustrated that he had lengthened the visit by drifting off.

Joker slid out of the cot with out waking Harley. She was way too medicated to be awoken anyway.

He slid the key into its place in the door, opened it with a soft click and made a quiet exit.

Joker strode down the hallway, returning the key card to his neck. To distracted, the clown did not think to listen for footsteps nearing him. He assumed he was alone until he rounded the corner and found himself face to face with Dr. Strange.

Joker flinched for a second, preparing himself for a guard, "Why hello there doctor," he greeted lowing his raised hands, "It's uh, its bit late ta be wonderin' the halls eh," he glanced at an imaginary wristwatch.

"I could say the same for you," the doctor responded coolly, "Would you care to discuss what you are doing out of your cell," his voice somewhat condescending, as if he could make the Joker feel inferior.

"Mmm, no I wouldn't," he wound his fingers in the lanyard around his neck.

Dr. Strange nodded thoughtfully. He then leaned to one side to glance behind the Joker, "In the women's ward, I see; where Miss Quinzel is staying..."

"Yeah,"

Dr. Strange stoked his bearded chin thoughtfully, "I've wondered for some time what your reunion with Miss Quinzel would be like,"

Joker laughed slightly, "That's kinky, wouldn't expect that of yooou doc,"

"You know what I mean Patient four, four, seven, nine,"

In return the clown simply rolled his eyes and sighed, "Are the cafeteria ladies on duty yet? I was thinkin' I'd go scare me some pudding cups,"

"Do you think that I going to let you walk away Patient four, four, seven, nine?"

"Ye-ah," Joker pushed past the doctor, "I've been doing whatever I want up ta this point, might as well let me go,"

"You seem to be confused," Strange began as Joker strode down the hall, "I've been allowing you to do whatever you want; until this point,"

The clown prince spun around, a confused look across his bruised face, "Sorry? What? You've been allowing me," he scoffed.

"I searched your cell personally, found the key in a hole on the underside of your cot and decided to leave it there," Strange explain, "I wanted to see what you would do Patient four, four, seven, nine. And you've done quite allot. Mr. Crane will have to be hospitalized you know, that's why I'm here at such an early morning hour actually," his voice was indifferent, like none of this was real.

As if the murderer before him was unable to harm him. Or the man practically beaten beyond recognition with a fire extinguisher was fine. Dr. Strange had allowed Joker a way out of his cage simply due to curiosity, risking everyone's safety; including his own.

Joker stood motionless, head cocked to one side in his usual bad posture.

"The lack of security, the weapons; however crude and unconventional were all my doing," Hugo Strange continued to talk, eyes not leaving the Joker for a moment, "I also left Miss Quinzel's folder lying on my desk for well practically weeks, tell me how long did it take you to discover her survival?"

The clown did not say a word for some time, "Ya know," he finally spoke again in a low voice, "Most people would thiiiink... that's sick," a smirk spread across his face, pushing at a scar, "I like it. I knew we'd have more in common once we got ta know each other, doc,"

"You're avoiding my question clown," Hugo smiled smugly.

"Look Strange," Joker spared a moment to let his tongue dart across a scar, "I'm callin' your bluff. You can say all ya want that you're in control and you know what you're doing but you don't. I'm an agent of chaooos," he grinned, "You can't control me,"

Joker turned once again to go. His mind already shifting gears, he began to think about the pudding cups in the cafeteria and how they should serve strawberry milk because the white kind is jest nasty.

"Robert Bailey, the nurse you killed. He was murdered with operating instruments that were to be locked away unless in use. No one man is to be left alone with you and yet Mr. Bailey's entire team exited the room. You see, I told the head doctor Mr. Bailey needed to gain some confidence with patients. I said experience with you would do him some good. As for your weapons, well, there was coincidentally no more room for them in storage," Dr. Strange began to follow Joker, "Cheryl Peck always rode home with Robert. She never liked to drive after being in an accident as a teenager and did not trust public transportation in Gotham. I knew she was depending on him to go home and therefore would look for Mr. Bailey," he continued, "Being a female she would feel more pity for you than a man would. In the end I assumed she would trust you what with your ability to lie and you sociopath charm,"

Joker grew more frustrated by the doctor babbling behind him.

"No," Dr. strange seemed to answer a non existent question; "I suppose it isn't surprising that I can get inside the minds of my employees, people aren't hard to figure out as you know. But you, you are something else entirely.... or so you think,"

Joker stopped but did not turn to face Hugo Strange.

"I knew you'd come to my office. You and your temporary Harley Quinn, Jonathan Crane. Jonathan would come because you need something to posses. And you are a mad dog, considering yourself triumphant because you invaded my territory," Strange stepped in front the other man, who was now staring blankly at the floor, "I left Miss Quinzel's folder there for that reason; because at some point you would be there and at that point you'd find it. You'd find her, your last, weak, little link to humanity," Strange drew something from his lab coat pocket, Joker did not pay attention, "You aren't that hard to figure out. You try so hard to be unpredictable and by that make yourself... predictable. It simply takes time and it takes patience," Joker saw Strange in his limited peripheral vision, he was flicking the object with his fingers, "I don't' know everything about you Patient four, four, seven, nine but I have other sources of information and in time..." a sharp pain rose in Joker's exposed arm, "I'm sure I will know many more things," Strange finished.

The clown looked down at the source of pain in his left arm. A syringe attached to a long needle stuck in his flesh. His dark hazel eyes looked at the needle for a few moments, then the doctor, then the needle again. It blurred slightly before him and a few moments after Strange removed the sharp object from his veins Joker fell to the floor.

* * *

_Sorry, I tease. Joker and Harley reunited but noooot quite since only one of them was conscious. That's just awful; I'd be pissed if I were reading this. _

_Lol, anyway I do need to apologize for another ridiculously long wait. Things have been hectic and I'm not getting much sleep yaddda yada, long story short I just don't have the time I did last year. I hate adulthood._

_So about this chapter; that's as fluffy as the Joker will ever get as long as I'm writing him. I hope it wasn't so cotton candy soft that it became unrealistic. I thought that considering he beat the living hell out of Jonny in the last chapter it would be an interesting contrast. Hopefully the two chapters even each other out. _

_A little note about the Strange part; let it be known that he does not have Joker figured out completely. I think that's part of the clown's character that no one will ever really understand him no matter how may fan diagnoses he gets. But I am fascinated by how TDK Joker is so twisted that he believes he is the human embodiment of chaos... I may have said that before. But its just crazy; a character so devoted to the opposite of good and humanity. Anyway I wanted to further point that out and have him get really freaked that he's just been 'predicted'._


	16. Common Ground

Pamela drummed her fingers frantically on the table before. As she sat towards the back of the cafeteria room she watched the heavy, double, entrance doors waiting for Harley's arrival. Pam had absolutely no idea what to say. Should she apologize? No, she did not do anything wrong... technically, did she? Either way she thought she should at least ask how Harley was, even though she really didn't care.

Pamela sighed with frustration, raking her fingers through her auburn hair and beginning to poke at the cold, stiff waffle before her. Why did Dr. Strange have to ask her? Oh right, because he knew she actually sane.

Pamela Isley would have preferred to stay ignored by her fellow inmates. As lonely as she was in Arkham she was not looking for friends with criminal records like Harley's.

Just as Pam began to think that maybe Harley wouldn't show today, she walked in. A nurse by her side, the scarred blond was escorted through the small cafeteria line and then instructed to sit down.

"Over here," Pam said half-heartedly.

She did not even turn around to look at Harley's reaction; she had already seen her frightened rabbit performance the day before.

Eventually though, Harley sat down across from Pamela with her tray of waffles and a carton of skim milk.

"Hey Pamela," she said quietly.

"Soo," responded the other woman, "Are you okay now?"

"Depends on your definition of okay I guess,"

Pam rolled her eyes, "Yeah, we are in an insane asylum," she paused, "I meant about the..." she thought for a moment, wondering if 'the J word' would send Harley into another fit, "You know, the Joker,"

Harley swallowed and nodded.

"Good," Pam's only response amidst the awkward silence, "I um, I didn't know that you didn't know," she stumbled over her words, "I mean I guess I'm sorry," Pam apologized though she did not know why, lack of anything else to say she supposed.

"So' Kay," Harley twisted her ratted ponytail around her index finger, staring at her plate.

"H-how long were you guys together?" Pam asked.

For the first time Harley looked up at the redhead, her eyes so wide and blue, contrasted by faint dark circles beneath them. They always seemed pleading, like any moment she would burst into tears. Harley pursed her lips for a moment before speaking again.

"I dunno," her lips quivered slightly, "I lost track of time,"

"Surely you know you were kind of obsessed with the guy weren't you?"

Harley almost seemed to flinch, "All the days sorta blend togatha when ya ain't sleepin',"

"You didn't sleep?" Pam made a face, confused by Harley's off beat explanation.

"Not much," replied the blond before abruptly stabbing her waffle with a plastic fork.

"So," Pamela pursued her, "What did you do?"

"Had sex, watched TV, played with Jonny... killed people,"

"Sounds fun," smirked Pam.

"Shut up," Harley mumbled.

"What?"

"Shut up," this time the scarred woman yelled it, "Can't you hear?"

"Harley calm down," commanded Pamela.

"Calm down?!" shrieked Harley, "Calm down?! What the hell are ya gonna do if I don't Pamela? What chya gonna do?" she stood up, fork in hand, "Do ya know who I am? Do ya know what I'm in here for?"

"Yeah, for trailing along behind your crazy ass boyfriend," Pamela stood up too.

The red head was almost a head taller than the more petite blond, but size did not deter Harley. Pamela was not looking for a fight though, just hoping to intimidate and keep that fork out of her neck.

"Ladies, ladies," a nurse called, "Sit down, just- just calm down you two," she hastily approached, "Miss Quinzel, you don't want to have to be sedated again do you,"

Harley's eyes were now directed towards the orderly, her mouth forming a childish pout. She lowered her weapon slightly but did not verbally respond.

Pamela glared at the nurse, who was obviously taking pity on Harley with the warning instead of immediate punishment.

"Put the fork down Miss Quinzel," she coxed, "Please,"

Slowly she did, obeying orders she put the fork down onto her tray.

"Now," the orderly continued, "perhaps Pamela should go sit somewhere else,"

"No," Pamela interrupted, "I'm supposed to give the little twit company, Strange said so," she half lied, not revealing that she was to find information about Harley's former lover as well.

Harley's eyes narrowed at her.

"Apparently he thinks I'm a good influence," Pam continued, "But Harley Quinn," she began in a mocking tone, "Is obviously beyond help. I mean look at her face, how does anybody expect to make that 'okay',"

"You're crazy to ya stupid bitch," snapped Harley.

"Oh she called me a name," the redhead pretended to pout, she leaned closer to Harley, "I guess that's what I get for insulting a gift from her boyfriend,"

The smaller blond shoved Pam.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," the nurse said nervously, hands visibly shaking, she must have been new, "Miss Isley, I really think you should go sit somewhere else,"

"I'm not going anywhere," she was speaking to the nurse but staring directly at Harley, "I told you Dr. Strange wants me to do this. I can't help it if Harley can't carry on a conversation without going nuts,"

"She was talkin' 'bout Mistah J," Harley sounded more hurt than angry now, her voice shook like she was going to burst into tears.

"Miss Isley maybe you-," Pam cut the nurse off.

"No," she began, "Don't even start. Why can't you talk about Mister J Harley? Huh? It was perfectly fine to forfeit your career and your reputation and your friggin life for him but let's not talk about that,"

"Shut up," Harley screamed, covering her ears as she began to sob.

Pamela rolled her eyes, "Great, she crying now. You know what; I think I will just go sit somewhere else.

She grabbed her tray and headed for a table at the front of the room, leaving Harley to the nurse.

* * *

Jonathan flipped aimlessly through the TV channels offered on the hospitals television. He was never much for watching TV but he had nothing else to do in here. He glared at his leg, wrapped in a cast and propped up, he hated that clown. What Jonathan hated even more was being so defenseless; the story of his life. Crane did not have much physical presence which as a male was difficult. He was picked on in elementary school and high school was even worse. The only way he had found to assert himself in life was through knowledge, which the city of Gotham gladly took away from him. Jonathan loathed being in that asylum, with no fear gas to protect him. He supposed it did not work on the Joker anyway.

With a frustrated sigh he hit the red power button on the remote and tossed it aside. Crane laid back and stared at the white ceiling above him. That's when he heard the creak of a door, he lifted his head.

"Hello Dr. Crane," it was Dr. Strange.

Jonathan simply rolled his eyes, this day just kept getting better, he thought sarcastically.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor spoke again.

"You don't really care to know, do you?" Crane said coolly.

"I came here to speak to you about Patient four, four, seven, nine,"

"Ah, just as I suspected," nodded Jonathan, "Go on,"

"What exactly did you do to provoke him, or did he simply decide to beat you randomly?" Dr. Strange pulled a chair closer to Jonathan's bedside and leaned forward, awaiting an answer.

"Perhaps," began the former doctor, "I don't feel like discussing this,"

"I see, so I assume that means you have no idea. Well thank you for your time Mr. Crane," Strange stood to leave.

"Wait," Jonathan tried not to sound desperate, "I know why... the question is why should I let you in on the secret, what do you have to offer me?"

"I think I'm wasting my time here, besides you need your rest," Hugo Strange walked towards the door followed by Jonathan's glare.

But then it occurred to the former doctor; this was the perfect way to exact revenge on the Joker. Crane obviously could not compete with the clown physically and fear gas had no effect on the sociopath so he'd hurt what made him 'the Joker'. He would hurt his reputation.

"Stop," Jonathan said as Dr. Strange was opening the door, "Wait, I'll tell you,"

Dr. Strange returned to his seat beside Jonathan, "I'm listening, doctor,"

"Well, it's all very simple. But I'm not surprised you were unable to see it yourself," Jonathan said smugly, "You're fortunate that I'm cooperative,"

"Yes I am Dr. Crane; now please tell me why the Joker beat you,"

"Harley,"

"Harley? As in Harleen Quinzel?" asked Dr. Strange.

"Yes," he nodded, "The patient discovered that he was unsuccessful in the murder of Miss Quinzel. And you know the state she was in when taken to the hospital; with her mouth cut opened, she was obviously meant to bleed out with the Joker's trademark written on her face. But someone rescued her and the patient assumed that someone was I. Of course I had no part in the rescue of Miss Quinzel," Jonathan explained.

Strange spoke again, "Surely you told him you had nothing to do with Miss Quinzel... so why did he continue to beat you so badly?"

"Because doctor it's the Joker. He's not looking for a simple yes or no. He doesn't need a reason. What you need to focus on is why he was so upset about Harley survival,"

Hugo Strange nodded thoughtfully and took a small notepad from his coat pocket, "I assume you know why that is...."

"Naturally," Jonathan replied arrogantly, "I didn't get to be head of Arkham at my age by being a mediocre in my profession. The patient was angry that his victim survived,"

"As I assume any murderer would be if they had set out with intent to kill an individual," commented Strange.

"No, not the Joker. Not when he believes so deeply in chaos ruling, no. He was not mad because his plan went awry,"

"Please get to the point,"

"Harley survived,"

"Yes," Strange responded with confusion, waiting for Jonathan to continue.

He rolled his eyes, though not surprised by Strange's inability to see his genius," It's my belief that Joker needs Harley. He's a sociopath so he's not in love with her; but there is something about her. Maybe something from his former life or maybe Harley is just the little bit of humanity about him? Either way it's obviously frustrating to him and gets in the way of this character he portrays so he kills her. But she's rescued and by who?"

Strange looked up from his notes, "That was never confirmed,"

Another eye roll, "The Batman, the Batman rescued Harleen Quinzel," Jonathan adjusted himself in bed, leaning closer to Dr. Strange and lowing his voice, "Do you have any idea what significance Batman holds in the Joker's life. Its fascinating, really," he shook his head, "The point is; Batman preserved the Joker's humanity. He hurt that clown worse than he ever could physically," Crane smiled, proud of his own discovery.

"How did you know all this?"

"Careful observation," the former doctor replied, "I'm very good at what I do,"

"Well then, I should be going," Strange tucked the notepad back in his pocket and turned to leave the room, "Thank you, doctor,"

Crane knew he was simply patronizing him but that title felt so good, "You aren't welcome, Strange," he replied, lying back down.

After the door shut Jonathan sighed, "To think I was replaced by him,"

* * *

Joker woke up in the late afternoon, dizzy and slowed with drugs still in his system. Recalling the previous nights, or rather early morning's events was almost useless.

He looked around the cell, the same grey walls of the damp basement surrounded him, they seemed to pulsate slightly due to the sedatives but nothing had really changed. He was still in Arkham, still in the same cell.

Joker stared up at the ceiling for several moments, his numbness slowly wearing off. As he began to move about to sit up he noticed his arm was sore. Upon examination a small bruise had developed around a needle mark on his flesh. He knew he had been sedated, the effects were obvious, but seeing this caused him to recall. Short scenes of the night before came back to him. Joker remembered going to Harley's cell and running into Dr. Strange. He remembered what Dr. Strange said...

"Son of bitch," Joker slurred, attempting to get out of his cot only to fall to the floor, "He couldn't of known," he mumbled to himself, "He doesn't know,"

The room was spinning from his point of view. Joker closed his eyes for a few minutes, letting the dizziness pass. Then he looked beneath his cot.

"I gotta get outa here," he breathed.

Positioning himself beneath the cot he searched around for his pass key. The clown had successfully hidden it in a hole in the mattress; Dr. Strange had claimed to know this. After searching in the space he found no keys meaning Dr. Strange was really aware of his hiding place and took them.

"Damn it," Joker groaned angrily.

He stared at the hole. Inside the torn mattress springs were worn and loose as the bedding began to rot. Joker reached for a loose spring, broken and rusted. With some effort he jerked it free and slid out from underneath the cot once again.

The clown managed to sit up, cross-legged on the cool cement floor. He stared intently at the twisted metal in his hand. He needed a way to get an orderly's attention.

* * *

Harley sat in an arm chair near the back of the rec room. Arms folded and her eyes cast downward she stared at nothing, "Harley," she heard a voice say.

It was Pamela Isley; of course, lately the tall redhead was always bothering her. Harley decided to ignore the voice, as usual. The whole routine was getting old and she was waiting for the other woman to give up.

"I need to talk to you," Pam continued, pulling a folding chair before Harley's seat, "I know that I've said some really rude things,"

_No kiddin', _Harley thought to herself.

"And its not that I don't believe in what I've said, I do. It's just that maybe I've come across wrong," her voice was unconvincing; it didn't seem to fit correctly with her words.

Harley did not know whether to think that Pamela was being insincere or this was just Pamela. She decided to think the worst and continue with her bad attitude.

Pamela stared at her for a moment. Blue eyes cast downward and lined with dark circles from poor eating habits, exhaustion and lack of sunlight. Her hair was a mess, tri-colored and ratted. But the most unsightly feature was those scars. A permanent fixture to her once smooth face; they would never go away. They did not hurt anymore; but there would always be a reminder of her pain written across her face. Harley would never be able to look in a mirror without noticing the marred flesh on either side of her lips.

Pam had been fortunate enough to have no physical reminder of the things she had been through. Her striking facial features remained unchanged across her ivory face. Harley was not so lucky.

For the first time since the two had met Pamela Isley felt for the blond. She watched her stare blankly like a broken doll that no one wanted anymore.

She sighed, "You aren't listening to a word I'm saying are you?" she shrugged, "Why should you? I don't know what to say, honestly. I guess, I'm just... I'm sorry,"

The tall redhead rose from her chair and turned to go.

"What are you getting out of this?" Harley asked.

"What?"

"You said Strange told you to hang around me," her face remained unchanged, still not facing Pam, "What was he going to do for you in return?"

"Nothing," Pamela lied, she sat back down near Harley.

"Don't lie. Ya just wouldn't do that ta make me feel welcome and even if ya did ya suck at that. If there's one thing I know it's that people are always usin' eachothah... Whatchya usin' me for?"

Pam thought for a moment, "I'm not using you Harley,"

"That's bullshit," the blond replied calmly, looking at Pamela for the first time through teary eyes.

The redhead's temper rose, "Well I'd make something up for you Harley but I don't know what you're expecting. You're likely to upset with my lie and start crying again,"

"I knew ya weren't sorry," snarled Harley, "Go away,"

"No, I'm trying to apologize,"

"Yeah well I don't want ya apologies Miss Isley. Cuz they're likely ta be followed by how wrong I am and then you'll gimme a feminist rant,"

"Harley, no, I won't," Pamela said with an exasperated sigh.

"Ya huh, that's what ya always do. That's all I've evah heard from ya since we met,"

The redhead raised an eyebrow, "You say that like we've known each other for years. We've only been around each other, what, four or five times. If that. You like to point fingers at me Quinzel, but it sounds like you don't know me either. Do you even know why I'm in here?"

Harley shrugged.

Pamela sighed again, "I don't like to talk about it. I just... I hate for people to know, especially you," she paused, Harley glared at her, "But I need to tell you because if I don't we will never stop hating each other,"

"Oh so ya think some story about your crappy childhood or ya bitchy friends is gonna make me like you. I used ta be a shrink Isley I've heard it all,"

"I never said we'd be friends Harley," Pam snapped, "I just think you need to know where I'm coming from and you need to stop acting like you're the only person in the world with problems,"

The blond stared straight ahead. As much as Pamela did not want to she continued speaking.

"I was a botanist," she began, "I had started studying with a man I had went to college with years prior, I hadn't really got to know him in school though. Anyway he _seemed_... perfect. We went out a few times in addition to working together and I remember thinking that I had it all," she shook her head, "He started telling me he had some ideas for using plants for medicinal purposes and not just to cure sickness but to prevent it. He had this ridiculous idea about plant hybrid super humans that would not get sick, live longer... things like that,"

By now Harley turn slightly towards Pam. Somewhat interested in the tale but did not want to appear that way.

The redhead continued, "Of course by than I knew he was crazy. And he was so serious about his idea that he suggested we try it," she bowed her head, "It turns out all along he wanted to use me as some sort of test subject. He actually tried to kidnap me after I told him no,"

"So, how'd ya get here?" Harley said in a quiet voice, nervously spinning her hair around her finger.

"I told the police, it went to court, but obviously I didn't find any justice. He told the court I was insane. He told them that I was trying to ruin his reputation and that I was the one with the plant theory, interested in testing it on him. Of course he had paid Dr. Strange off in advance and I was declared criminally insane,"

Harley was silent. Pamela's vibrant green eyes pierced her blue ones in an intense gaze.

"So Harley," she said after several moments of silence, "Maybe I know you better than you thought,"

* * *

_I am alive, just very busy and a little lazy. I have a few days off for the holidays so I hope that I can get the next few chapters out sooner. Thanks everybody for your patience._

_I can't believe Brittany Murphy died. She was my Harley. It's kinda weird, my Harley and my Joker will never be portrayed in a movie. I recently saw a photo manipulation of the two of them (as Harley and Joker). It was in black and white and they were standing in the rain staring off to one side. It kinda gave me chills._

_Anyway I hope you all enjoy this chapter and Merry Christmas. :D_


	17. Art

"Justa liiiil more," Joker grunted.

He hastily grabbed up his bed sheets, twisted into a rope like shape and blood soaked, he put one end in his mouth. He sunk his teeth into the fabric as he forced the metal coil into his wrist making a fourth puncture wound in his flesh.

"There we gooo," he said to himself, his voice muffled by the sheets in his mouth.

Slowly he pulled the sharp metal object from his arm. Hot pain raced through his veins as it slid out of him, almost as bad as when it had entered. Blood spurted quickly out of the broken skin. Tossing the sheets and the coil aside he swept up the thick red liquid with his fingers and smeared it onto his cell's window.

"Gotham needs some clouds," he mumbled, rising shakily to his feet and reaching to 'finger paint' crimson clouds above a bloody cityscape.

The painting stretched across the wide window at the front of his cell. A long row of sky scrapers towered over a busy street below. The carefully painted taxi cabs dripped onto the cement floor beneath them. The scene was impossible to miss.

Joker stepped back to admire his work. He swept a blond lock from his face smearing blood throughout his mess of curls, "It still needsss... something," he placed his hand thoughtfully on his chin, leaving a bloody print behind, "Hmmm, maybe...," he hurriedly sucked the blood off his index finger and scrawled the letter 'W' on the top of a red skyscraper, "Wayne Towers," he proclaimed, "Makes it a lil more recognizable," Joker observed.

Just then a nurse walked past the cell, on her way to check on a prisoner who seemed to be coming down with a virus. Her eyes glanced momentarily at the Joker's window and then back to the hall. That is until it occurred to her that it was covered in bloody smears.

"Oh my God," she gasped hands covering her mouth.

"Aww," Joker whined inside the cell, "I'm not finished yet, don't look," he stumbled toward the window, light headed from blood loss.

"Guards!" the nurse screamed desperately, "Guards! I need guards now! Hurry!"

Joker was satisfied; his plot to escape seemed to be working out fairly well. His mind would change however when he saw five guards barreling down the hall, sedatives in hand.

"Oh shit," he muttered while the room spun slightly.

The guards burst through the door, "Aw," one of them groaned, "Sick bastard,"

Joker barely noticed the sharp pain of the needle in his arm, "Fail," he sighed before hitting the floor in a drug induced sleep.

* * *

For dinner at 'Cafe Arkham' they were serving something that resembled Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes and broccoli.

Pam, not looking forward to her meal walked into the cafeteria.

"Ovah here," she heard a voice say.

It was Harley, sitting alone at a table to the left. Pamela skipped the cafeteria line and headed for the blond.

"So Pamela," Harley began as the redhead sat across from her, "Is it true that Strange wants ya to hang out with me?" she pushed a soggy piece of broccoli around her plate.

"Yes,"

Harley nodded, "And what do you get out of this deal,"

"Nothing," Pam lied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Really?" Harley's wide blue eyes turned to face Pam, a genuine look of confusion on her face.

"Yeah, really," Pamela fibbed again, but explaining her agreement with Dr. Strange would only hurt Harley. And God knows she had been hurt enough.

A small smile spread across her scarred face, "Ya wanna eat with me?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know about the eating part," Pam made a face at Harley's dinner.

They smiled at each other for a few moments before Harley's gaze was cast downward towards her meal again.

"What was your guy's name?" she asked quietly.

"Dr. Andrew Thomas," answered Pam with some hesitation.

"He's got two first names," observed Harley, she continued to push her food around her plate in a somewhat nervous manner, "Do you... do you miss him? Like if ya evah got the chance would ya take him back?"

"No," Pamela shook her head, "Never,"

Harley nodded.

Her mission from Dr. Strange momentarily outweighing her sympathy; she brought up the subject of 'Mr. J', "What about you?" the redhead questioned.

Harley's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. She then pursed her lips in silence.

Pam spoke up, "You don't have to answer-,"

"I don't know," Harley interrupted, looking at the woman with tear filled eyes, "I really don't know. Some days I miss him so bad it hurts, then other days I nevah wanna see him again. On those days I feel bad for hatein' him and then I just hate myself for feelin' bad. I mean... how can I love him still, after all he's done? I shouldn't... should I?"

"I don't know how to answer that Harley,"

"Maybe I don't love him... I don't know what I'm feelin' other than confused," Harley wiped her nose on her sleeve like a child.

"All break ups are... well, messy. You'll get over him," Pam attempted to comfort the blond, in a generic kind of way.

For a few seconds she regretted her words as she looked at Harley's face; tears streaming down her cheeks, mouth agape and her eyes reddened. Pam feared another tantrum from the unstable woman.

But then, much to her surprise Harley laughed, "That's the most ridiculous thing I evah heard," she cackled, "I mean he's a mass murdering terrorist not a sixteen year old boy," she continued laughing.

"Yeah," Pam tried to chuckle along, "I guess that was, well, inacurate, sorry,"

"Don't be," Harley was practically crying with laughter now, "Ya just made my day Red,"

"Red?"

"Uh huh" Harley giggled wiping the tears off her face with a napkin, "Ya got the reddest head of hair I've evah seen. Mind if I call ya that?"

"I don't mind," 'Red' responded.

"Good cos' I was gonna anyways," Harley let out a sigh, "Ya know what Red, I think I had ya aaaaall wrong,"

* * *

"Damn it," the Joker groaned, opening his eyes to find them blinded by bright lights.

He squinted and tried to sit up but soon found that he was strapped to a bed with heavy leather straps and silver buckles. He jerked on them for a few moments which off course got him nothing but a wave of exhaustion. He fell back on his pillow, sufficiently aggregated.

As Joker's eyes adjusted to the light he found himself in a grey room. The walls, floor and ceiling appeared to be padded; the only window was a tiny one in the center of a padded door.

He took a moment to examine himself. His uniform had been changed, this one bore no bloodstains. Joker found that his wrists were heavily bandaged and wreaked of disinfectant.

His previous actions began to come back to his memory, but that still did not answer where he was or why.

Joker noticed a camera in the far corner of his new cell.

"Hey," he yelled toward it, hoping it was on, "Can somebody get in here and tell me what the hell is going on?" he demanded, "Better yet, get me off this bed and then tell me what th-," before he could finish his sentence the door opened. In came two female nurses and two brawny guards.

"It's no use," a tall African American guard said to the Joker, "No sound on that thing anyway," he nodded towards the camera.

"Where am I?" Joker ignored the guard.

"The suicide ward," a nurse explained, "Are you experiencing any light headedness?"

"I can't tell I'm lying down. But if you could uh, untie me here I-"

"Uh uh, clown, no way," a guard interrupted.

"Damn it... why am I even here?" Joker looked back and forth between the two nurses, a fairly young one; probably new and one of a more mature age.

New employees were always easy to spot. This girl was showing the classic signs of a newbie. Her hands clasping each other nervously, her eyes wide and her expression blank; trying not to show fear. Of course anyone could see right through it. The younger nurse stayed closer to the guards, not speaking or doing much nursing at all.

As for the older lady, she was a pro. Stout and gray haired she gruffly addressed the Joker, asking him questions and writing things down on a beat up clip board.

"You're in the suicide ward because you tried to kill yourself," she grumbled from behind her paperwork.

"Did not!" Joker was responded with hast.

"Yes you did, busted open your wrists," she gestured at his wounds with her pen.

"I was making art," Joker lied about his failed escape, "And let me tell you this asylum is severely lacking in the proper materials," he said smugly.

"Yeah well, when a patient bores their wrist open with a metal object we call it attempted suicide,"

Joker was getting angry again, "So what are ya gonna do? Strap me to a bed and watch me all day? Keep me safe?"

"Doesn't make alotta since does it?" the guard spoke up again, "I say we let him off himself," he chucked fist bumping his fellow guard.

"I didn't try ta kill myself," Joker spat.

"To answer your question," the nurse began again, "We are going to remove your restraints. But you are going to stay here and will put you on an IV since we can't let you use eating utensils,"

Joker's eye twitched with rage but he did not respond. The clown could not seem to think of what to say and it was not often that he was rendered speechless. Then suddenly a thought came to him mind, were they finally breaking him? His anger slipped away leaving him blank. It was impossible; the asylum couldn't win... could it?

His frantic thoughts were interrupted by the hot pain of sedatives in his veins. He struggled to lift his head as much as possible beneath his restraints only to see the nurse pulling a needle from his flesh.

"Shit," he growled before once again passing out.

* * *

_Happy 2010 everybody!_


	18. No one Knows, No one Cares

Joker hated his new cell; he hated it even more than the moldy damp one in the basement. This cell was soft and puffy and screamed to all of Arkham Asylum that he was suicidal, which he was not. This cell was ruining his reputation... or at least crumbling it up a bit, missing the trash can and letting it lay on the floor. Joker thought about this too long, clearly.

But what he hated most about his new cell was that damn security camera. It's green, blinking 'on' light mocking all hours of the day and then glaring at him in the darkess of night. It was a constant reminder that he was always being watched, caged like an animal. For almost a week now he tried to destroy it, only to find that jumping at the camera and swatting at it caused a flood of guards and nurses to come breaking down the door with sedatives. Not to mention getting him scolded by that grumpy nurse for dragging his IV over to the otherside of the room for no good reason. So instead he chose to occupy his time making faces at the machine and those who monitored. Of course sticking out his tongue and flipping it the middle finger got old pretty fast as well. And still got him in trouble for the IV.

Joker sat in bed, pouting somewhat. If people thought he was crazy before he could not imagine what they would think after more time in this environment, it was absolutely maddening.

He stared down frustrated at his wrists. Off-white bandages wrapped neatly around stitches, their lumpy shape visible beneath their gauzy covering. The Joker was not mad about what he had done to himself, though it did lead him here. It had been a good idea and not to far-fetched compared to some of his others. It simply did not play out correctly and the Joker, being a fan of random chaos did not mind this. So he was not quite sure why he was angry. He let out a sigh. The clown usually won, even without thinking his way through a plan; it just happened to work for him. It was that Dr. Strange messing things up, he knew it.

Joker attempted to pick at the needle in hid hand, but the nurse had taped the IV with extra security. It was practically impossible to get out of his veins. He wondered how the nurses changed it, he wouldn't know, they sedated him for the whole process. Joker was pondering how to dismantle his IV when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps on the tile outside his door. Instead of passing as he expected they stopped and were promptly followed by a knock.

"Yeah?" he answered, feeling oddly since he obviously had no power to open the door and greet his guest. Perhaps they were just testing him to see if he had a key card... and half a brain.

The door opened with a click and a whoosh of locks. Dr. Strange and a guard stood in the door.

"Speak of the devil," Joker muttered to himself.

"Patient four, four, seven, nine," the doctor walked inside, crossing his arms disapprovingly as he did, "What have you done this time,"

Joker did not like being treated like a five year old who just scribbled all over the walls. He knew Strange was simply putting on a show for that meathead guarding beside the door.

"Oh," he began finding it odd how Strange took a week to notice, "I just thought I had a lil to much of the stuff in me is all," Joker said sarcastically holding up his damaged wrists.

"This is no time for jokes,"

"Are you tryin' ta impress your boyfriend over there with stern fatherly crap," Joker gestured to the guard.

Strange's anger showed slightly through his attempted, calm exterior, "Mr. Palm could you step put for a moment. I think I need to speak privately with my patient,"

"If you think it's safe, sir," the guard opened the door.

"It is lover boy and don't worry he'll be back in you're arms soon," Joker's tongue darted out to meet his right scar.

The guard merely rolled his eyes and slammed the cell door behind him.

Joker gave and exaggerated sigh, "Alone at last," he placed his hands behind his head, leaning in a relaxed pose, "So uh, doc, what can I do you for," he prodded his cheek with his tongue.

"I'm simply trying to understand," Dr. Strange thoughtfully rested his chin on his hand, "Was this an escape attempt, surely you weren't really attempting suicide?"

"If I was," Joker began, "It woulda worked... mmm both things,"

"So, what were you hoping to accomplish?"

"Why should I tell you? Ya gonna give me a cookie? For uh, being a good little crazy?"

"I am the only person here who knows you do not belong in the suicide ward. I know you have far too large an ego to resort to that. Do you understand what I'm saying? Only I can get you out of the suicide ward,"

"You're gettin' pissed aren't you?" Joker smirked, "Uh, don't answer that, you'll just lie," he ran his fingers through his hair, "Besides who uh, who says I wanna leeeave?"

"I've heard of your antics with the security camera Patient four, four, seven, nine," responded the doctor.

"Oh that? That was just for shits and giggles, the truth is I love this place!" he raised his voice.

"I see you are getting angry as well," the doctor replied in a smug tone.

Joker gritted his teeth, his eyes glared up at Strange and his head slightly bowed forward, "How about-uh," he emphasized the 't', "You lemme out of this cell too-day and I don't slaughter your family when I escape from this hellhole," the clown gave a devilish smirk, "Assuming anyone besides that guard out there was desperate enough ta fuck you,"

Dr. Strange's nostrils flared. For a moment Joker thought the distinguished doctor would lunge forward and strangle him, but as he saw Strange's grey eyes glace at the camera; he knew he wouldn't. The doctor would never risk his reputation no matter how far the Joker pushed.

"Ya can't turn it off from here, pal," Joker's muscles twitched, he cocked his head to one side, "I've tried,"

Strange took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice from shaking, "Do you know what I can do to you Patient four, four, seven, nine? The electric shocks, the basement... that was child's play. I can do anything I want here because nobody knows what's going on inside and nobody cares,"

"That may be true. But ya wouldn't do it,"

"And what makes you so sure?"

"I'm to valuable, my secrets mean to much. Ya wouldn't wanna fuck up you're little, crazy pet would ya?" The clown absent mindedly licked his scars and cocked his head to the other side like a deranged puppy.

Furious with the truth Hugo Strange abruptly turned to go.

"Ya know the thing about uh, dogs Dr. Strange. No matter how well ya think you've trained em' or how much ya chain em up... they're always gonna be an animal," Joker lowered his voice, looking right at Strange's eyes, "And ya never know when they're gonna get off their leeasssh,"

* * *

It was the end of the week, Pamela and Dr. Strange had agreed to meet and discuss Harley. But the walk down the hall appeared to be longer than usual as Pam's head spun with confusion.

A guard walked beside her. He quietly minded his own business, not bothering to restrain the women since Dr. Strange and a few chosen staff knew she was not crazy.

While she was sane Pam wondered if she would prefer a mental illness as opposed to what she was feeling now.

It was not that she had nothing to say to the doctor she was about to meet with, quite the contrary. Pam had plenty to say since in the past week Harley had told her everything within her slightly warped view of "Mr. J'. But that was just it. She wondered if she should tell. In the past week Pamela Isley realized that Harley Quinn was nothing more than a frightened, lovesick, little girl. And because of that she saw a little bit of her own plight in those big blue eyes.

At first Pamela had shared her story just to be able to get along with Harley. She never meant to have a real heart to heart with the blond. But a few days after she revealed her past, Pam found herself strangely glad that she did.

It was two days after she and Harley had made up. Slowly but surely she was getting more insight into the Joker, though not much since she was relying on Harley's limited view of the clown. Nevertheless things were going well and she was entering the cafeteria room for breakfast when Harley bounded up to her, giving her a bear hug which was surprisingly tight for a women of her stature.

"Mwah," she had given her an exaggerated kiss on the cheek and then got in trouble for doing so.

Pam had jokingly asked her if Strange switched up her medicine and Harley laughed, playfully slapping the redhead's shoulder.

"No silly," she giggled, "I'm just happy ta see you is all," Harley took a bite of some burnt toast, "I dreamt about chya last night. Best dream I've had in so long. Usually my dreams are nightmares," she explained.

"What was the dream about?"

"We ran away," Harley sighed, "Outa this dump, outa Gotham. We lived on a farm in a lil old town where no one knew us. You raised plants and I raised animals, but we nevah ate the animals they were pets. And they weren't just ordinary cows and pigs," Harley talked with her hands as she grew more excited, "They were giraffes and hippos and tigahs and penguins we had penguins too,"

Harley giggled through out the rest of breakfast, sharing dreams, only the good ones which she had in the past. Pam told Harley a few of her own as well and when breakfast was over the blond gave her another hug.

"I don't need no Jokah's when I got you Red," she whispered.

That whisper had rattled in Pamela's brain as soon as she awoke this morning and realized she had to talk to Strange today. Harley's heavily accented voice haunted her thoughts all day and even as she walked in and sat across from Dr. Strange.

"Hello Miss Isley," he greeted, "I don't mean to be rude but we must get right to the point I'm very busy, you see,"

"Alright. I quit," Pamela said calmly, it just came out like it was suppossed to.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied.

"I'm not doing this anymore, if you want to find out things about the Joker do it yourself,"

"And why have you changed your mind Miss Isley?"

The redhead rolled her eyes, "Because Dr. Strange, Harley may be spineless and immature but she is still a human being,"

"I am aware," replied the doctor.

"Don't you get what I'm trying to say? I don't want to stoop to your level; using people to get what I want. Just to get myself to a better place in life, I won't do it," Pamela raised her voice.

Hugo Strange paused, "Did you discover something about Ms. Quinzel that led to your decision?"

Pamela gazed intensely towards the doctor, "All I know is that she's a scarred girl who doesn't know who she is or what she'll do without the Joker. She is lost and afraid and I refuse to be as cold-hearted as you,"

"Is that you final decision Ms. Isley?" asked the doctor, expression unchanging.

"Yes,"

"This breaks our deal you understand. You won't be released,"

"It doesn't matter where I live if I can't live with myself,"

"Ah, how noble," said the doctor, sarcasm in his voice.

This was the first time Pamela had seen him show some of his true colors. Just a hint of the evil that rose inside a seemingly intelligent, respectable individual. But Pam knew him for what he really was; she did not have to see it.

Without another word Strange rose from his seat. His gait was casual as he walked toward the emergency intercom near the doorway of the room. He straightened his lab coat and pressed the talk button, "I need at least two guards to my therapy room immediately," Strange glanced from his place across the room to the patient at the table, "You may need sedatives," he added.

Pamela abruptly turned around at the doctor's suggestion, "What?" she questioned.

Hugo Strange watched her through cold eyes and an unfeeling look on his face as he spoke, "I have a patient who is becoming out of control and I need her in solitary as soon as possible,"

"You lying bastard," Pamela growled.

Not long after Dr. Strange stepped away from the intercom and back to the table, two guards rushed in. The men viciously grabbed a very unhappy Pamela Isley by the arms and began forcing her from the therapy room.

She kicked wildly and gritted her teeth, "You disgust me Strange," she spat, "I'm getting out of here one way or another and when I do I'm finding your ass first. I'll have a real reason to be in here, you- you despicable, retched, old thing," Pamela struggled against the strong guards forcing her away.

"Guards," Dr. Strange stood once again addressing the orderlies who held Pamela as best they could, "I've decided that I do not want my patient on solitary confinement,"

Pamela looked suspiciously at him through the mess of red hair tangled around her face from struggle.

"Take her to the basement instead," ordered the doctor.

* * *

_Slowly but surely Dead Memories is coming to an end. Which brings me to a desicion; with this being the end of my trilogy what should I write next? I have come up with a few Batman story lines but nothing I'm 100% sure about. So I started thinking I my revise All My Balloons. I read it the other night and realized it was quite short and lacked... something. Now that I'm more confident in my writing and have a better grasp on these characters does anyone think I should rewrite it? The storyline will remain basically the same, I'll just be adding things fixing grammar/spelling mistakes. So please lemme know, I wanna know you guys' opinions. :D_


	19. Joker Card

Harley pecked on the bulletproof glass surrounding the rec room nurses' station.

The nurse inside it rolled her eyes in frustration, "Yes Miss Quinzel," she said after pressing her intercom button allowing her communication with the patient.

"Is Pamela Isley here yet?"

"Did you see her come in Miss Quinzel?"

Harley knotted her fingers around each other, glancing at the door and then at the nurse again, "No," she said softly.

"Then she isn't here yet, this is the last time I'm going to tell you," the nurse turned the intercom off.

The blond pecked on the glass again.

"What?"

"Do you know if she's coming?"

The nurse sighed, running her fingers through her short graying hair, "I suppose I can check," she turned to a computer, "What's the name again,"

"Pamela Isley," Harley eagerly answered.

After a few clicks of a mouse the nurse shook her head, "Sorry Miss Quinzel I don't have her name on my attendance list,"

"Well she's gotta be. She's here everyday with me, can ya check again?" she asked.

"She is not on the list," the nurse confirmed, "Maybe she's not feeling well or maybe she got in trouble," the woman could see the concerned look on the blond patient's face, "I'm sure she's fine and she'll be back soon. But for now why don't you visit with another patient,"

Harley turned toward the rest of the group with apprehension, "I don't wanna," she explained to the nurse.

"Than I guess you'll have to find something to do by yourself. You can read some books, watch TV, I think there's a deck of cards somewhere, you can play solitaire," the nurse gave a few suggestions before turning off the intercom and returning to a crossword puzzle on her desk.

Harley walked away, disappointed back toward the end of the room. She sat up to a small table on a folding chair and retrieved a deck of cards from the table's surface.

She absent mindedly shuffled through the deck glanced at each car, illustrated with red, black and gold. The face card's glared at her with their stiff and stern faces. As she sifted through the kings and queens, the jacks and the random spades she came across one card that gave her chills. Staring up at her through golden eyes and giving her a Cheshire cat grin behind painted red lips; the joker card. This one was drawn according to the rest of the deck, maintaining the color scheme and style of art. His smile seemed sinister as he posed arms outstretched in one hand a stick and a few juggling balls in the other.

Harley stared at the card for some time. It shook along with her quivering hands. She sat it slowly on the table; still watching it as if the jester printed on it would jump out and bite her. Looking carefully around the room she unbuttoned her shirt. Then after surveying the room once again for onlookers she slipped the card into her bra. She did not know why, something simply drew her to it as well as frightened her. She buttoned her orange top once again knowing that the act of stealing the joker card was strange, but she did not care. For some unexplainable reason she needed to have the card.

Trying to look inconspicuous after she had pilfered the 'joker', Harley laid out the rest of the cards and began a quiet game of solitaire.

* * *

That night Harley changed into her faded grey pajamas while a nurse waited to collect her laundry. She slipped the joker card beneath her pillow while the nurse was not paying attention. Again she did not understand why she wanted it so badly.

Once the nurse was gone, the lights were out and she had taken her medication; Harley retrieved the card. She pulled it out from under her pillow and crept over to her door for a better look. Beneath a pale stream of light that show in the window she could see the grinning clown once again. He still smiled wicked at her, though it was silly to believe the drawing would change at all and she really had not expected it to. Harley just wanted to be sure.

The joker card went back underneath her pillow for the night. She laid her head above it and closed her eyes to sleep. Though rest did not come as quickly as it usually did. In the back of her mind Harley was still thinking about Red. Where was she? What had happened to her?

She wondered if possibly Pam was released. She thought that maybe the truth was revealed about her sentence to Arkham Asylum and now she was a free woman. Harley felt slightly angry with her friend. Pamela had not even bothered to say good bye.

Harley pulled out her joker card just one more time for the night. She could barely see him in the dark.

Tonight Harley would go to sleep missing 'him' and hating herself that she did.

* * *

Harley woke up and slid her hand immediately beneath her pillow, but her card was no longer there. Frantically, she sat up in bed, throwing the pillow across the room and the ripping her sheets of the bed to find it. As she tore away blankets and sheets she found them unfamiliar and she stopped her tantrum. Harley lifted her head to look around the room and found herself out of her cell. Instead she was in a small bedroom with one window; obscured by heavy curtains, a bed, a mirror, a nightstand and on its surface a lamp which was on. She should have noticed the warm glow that illuminated around it instead of the bright and harsh lighting in Arkham.

Immediately Harley rushed towards the door in an attempt to find out her location. But on the other side of the door was about twelve inches of hardwood floor that dropped off into another room several feet below. Harley backed away from the potential fall and hurried to the window to see what was outside and exactly how far she was from the ground. Upon throwing the curtains open she found nothing, just blankness stretching as far as she could see. Strangely Harley was not frightened, she did not panic, and instead she was confused.

"Who are you?" she heard a voice asked.

She turned around to find a little boy sitting on the bed she awoke in; which was now made.

Instead of questioning how it was the boy came into the room she simply gave him an answer, "I'm Harley,"

The boy nodded, "Mm kay," he responded then pulled a few small, plastic dinosaur figures from his pocket and began to play.

"What's your name?" Harley stayed in place.

The boy looked at her for a while the just smiled with a grin missing its two front teeth, "You can call me anything you want," he winked the continued with the dinosaur toys.

"I think I'm a little to old for you," Harley added, suddenly oblivious to her current situation and concentrated on the child.

"Well, how old are ya?"

Harley placed her hands on her hips, "It's impolite to ask a lady her age,"

"So I guess you are too old for me," the boy said.

"Yeah,"

Harley watched the boy who had recently appeared, play for a moment. He played like young boys usually do; simply wrecking the dinosaur figures together and making them fight. The kid's hair was an unruly mess, to long, blond and slightly curly. His shirt was too big and patterned with green stripes, the collar hung off one of his pale shoulders.

"So," Harley began to speak, "Are your parents around?"

"Nope,"

"When will they be back?"

"Beats me,"

"Do you have parents?"

"That's probably a... no,"

"So are you an orphan?" compassion replaced the frustration in Harley's voice.

"No,"

Harley crossed her arms and approached the boy, "If you're not an orphan than you must have parents,"

"Uh uh," he shook his head tossing his blond hair about.

Harley was beginning to feel like she had just fell head over heals into Wonderland and now she was having a confusing conversation with the Mad Hatter.

"Did you just grow out of the ground?" she asked smartly.

"I prefer fell out of the sky," the boy corrected her, "Its more exciting that way,"

Harley let out a sigh and slouched on the bed beside the boy, "I'm talking ta a kid that fell outa the sky in the middle of literally no where," she mumbled.

"Are you lost?" asked the boy, still playing.

"Yeah,"

"Me too," he responded.

"So, how did you get here... or is this just where you landed when you fell outa the sky?"

The kid shrugged.

"Uh, what do you know?"

"I know that it's that time of the month again for soooombod-yyy," he said in a sing song voice.

"You don't even know what that means," Harley snapped, "Ya what, six years old?"

"How should I know," they boy yelled back.

"Ya don't know ya name, how old ya are, where ya live, who ya parents are- God, why am I even talking ta you," Harley stomped to the door forgetting it led to know where.

She tossed it open but soon stopped herself from stepping off to the edge. She paused, this was an awkward situation. She slowly went back inside, closing the door behind her.

The boy was now standing behind her, his dinosaurs back in his pocket.

"Uh, I'm sorry," she apologized, staring down at the floor and the kid's purple Chuck Taylor's.

"That's okay," he shrugged, "Why don't ya just call me Jay?" he suggested.

"Jay it is," Harley sat back down on the bed.

"I bet I can jump higher than you can," Jay wagered.

"I don't know if I feel li-" before she could finish her sentence the boy dived onto the bed.

He jumped with all his strength high into the air above the bed, "C'mon Harley? Ya scared," he taunted in mid-air.

"No,"

"Prove it then," he continued to provoke.

Harley got to her feet on the mattress, unsteady from Jay leaping about.

She began jumping as high, if not higher than her new little friend.

"I'm winning Jay," she giggled.

"Not for long Harley Quinn," he replied with a wide grin.

"what dya just call me?" Harley had heard the name before.

"Harley Quinn, like the clown," Jay made a mask with his fingers over his dark hazel eyes.

Harley gasped, her widened and she slipped off the bed. The fall seemed to take forever. She tightly shut her eyes and braced herself for a painful fall.

But much to her surprise she didn't feel a thing. Harley opened her eyes and found herself back inside her cell, safe in bed.

"Harley?" she sat up, startled when she heard a small voice.

"What happened? Where are we? Harley?" it was Jays voice but she could not see him.

Harley thought she had been dreaming when she realized her surroundings, now she was more confused than ever.

"Jay?" she whispered.

"Do you ever get lonely Harley?" he asked, still unseen.

"Yes," tears swelled in her eyes at the truth of her answer, "Do you Jay?"

"Yeah," he answered, "Of course, we're just kids you and me... that's all,"

Harley pulled back her covers and began to creep out of her cot in search of Jay. When she did she found a pair of short legs in Mary-Jane's and white nylons in place of her own. She stood and found the Arkham Asylum bed to be higher than she remembered. Then upon further examination noticed that she was in a blue velvets dress that matched her eyes. The exact same outfit she wore on school picture day in first grade.

"We just wanna have fun," Jay sounded sad.

The in a much smaller voice Harley replied, "Ya right. That's all we want Mistah J,"

* * *

_Happy b-day to my sis, my proof reader, Im-Batman. And also another anniversary of Heath Ledger's death. I can't believe so much time has passed._

_Anyway, this was the last dream of the story, slowly winding down here. Incase you didn't get it; this dream was another part of the Joker. First we had the ring leader, scary chaotic, bound and determined to make Harley Harley Quinn again. Next we had the zombie, the living dead (as zombies are) and as the Joker is just metaphorically. And last but not least the tiniest part of humanity and the one part of his that Harley believes in the lonely little boy. See?_


	20. Freedom

"Good afternoon Dr. Crane," greeted Strange, sitting down across the table, "Is it good to be back?"

Jonathan who was still nursing his wounds, but well enough to leave the hospital replied, "I'm indifferent to this place," he grumbled, looking around the therapy room, "Is your prized crazy still here?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Joker,"

"He's still here," replied Hugo Strange, he paused for a moment, "If you're concerned for your safety he's one suicide watch, maximum security,"

"Suicide does not seem like something that clown would resort to," added Jonathan.

"Well he tried, though we shouldn't discuss this anymore. Patient confidentiality Dr. Crane,"

Jonathan rolled his eyes, "So," he began, "Have you came upon some miraculous breakthrough with your patient Strange?"

"As I said; patient confidentiality,"

"Funny, how you're suddenly playing by the rules. You weren't exactly interested in privacy when you were getting information from me were you doctor," Crane smirked, "You've gotten absolutely no where, am I correct?"

Dr. Strange let out an exasperated sigh, "Let's talk about you Crane, one of your favorite subjects I'm sure,"

"You're hilarious Strange," the patient replied sarcastically, "It occurred to me during my hospital stay; even with my help you will never manage to figure out the Joker. You know you can diagnose him with everything in the book and you still won't know,"

"And what exactly caused you to arrive at this conclusion,"

Jonathan shrugged, "I've had a lot of time to think," he leaned forward, "I believe- no I am positive that you would have great success studying not just the Joker. But Joker and Harley,"

"As a couple?"

"Exactly," Jonathan sat back, "I could be of assistance of course, having spent a considerable amount of time with the two,"

"Is that why you're suggesting this to me; for your own benefit?" asked Strange.

"Mostly," the former doctor replied in a matter of fact tone, "Or maybe it's because I'm hoping they'll destroy you in the process,"

Dr. Strange laughed slightly and shook his head, "You don't think I'd study them here, together,"

"What?"

"No, that would be foolish Jonathan,"

"Dr. Crane," he corrected angrily.

"My apologies, "Doctor","

Jonathan sat quietly for a moment as Strange prepared for therapy.

"So, how will you study them?"

* * *

Harley was wearing a grey hooded sweater and a pair of jeans; clothing salvaged from her old life as a productive member of society. This evening a nurse entered her cell, handed her the clothes and said Dr. Strange needed to see her in his office right away.

"It's very simple," Strange said.

He scribbled his signature on a piece of paper.

"All you have to do it sign here," he turned the paper and pointed to a dotted line, "And you are free to go, Miss Quinzel,"

Harley stared at the document before her, "So," she began, her voice quiet, "I'm sane?"

"Yes, quite," he pushed the paper forward along with an ink pen, "Now just sign here, be sure to right your full name. Harleen Quinzel,"

She stared at the piece of paper before her. Harley knew the procedure well. A patent is cured, papers are signed and arrangements are made for that patient to have a place to stay. Usually they went back to there families. As for the ones whose families refused to accept them, they got apartments. Arkham Asylum had agreements with a landlord in the city, when patients left the asylum they went there to a 'fully furnished' apartment. They could stay one month rent paid by the Asylum until they got a job and moved out. But Harley knew her situation was not like other patients who were released; she unlike that the others was not sane.

"I'm still on meds," she reminded Strange.

"Well yes, you are. I'll have one of the nurse's put your medication with your belongings. You may take it until your prescriptions run out," explained Dr. Strange.

Harley was confused, "Are you sure bout this?"

"Absolutely Miss Quinzel, you've improved greatly. Now all that's left to do it sign your papers, we've called you a cab and you can go home,"

"Home," Harley repeated softly.

She took the pen and carefully signed her name in cursive; "Harleen Quinzel".

"Congratulations Miss Quinzel," Dr. Strange said, "I'll have a guard escort you out your things are waiting in the cab as well as a weeks worth of food money,"

Harley nodded, still confused and followed a guard towards the entrance doors. A cab was waiting outside.

* * *

"Can we stop here?" Harley leaned forward in her seat and asked the cab driver.

"Sure thing," he replied in a thick accent.

They stopped outside a convince store and gas station that sat just before the city.

Harley produced her food money from her duffle bag of clothing and opened the cab door.

"I won't run or nothin' I promise," she turned to the driver.

"Better not," he said gruffly, "I'll be waitin',"

The cab driver had done this before, drove ex-Arkham inmates to there new homes for rehabilitation. Though he was not scared of Harley he was wary of her and a little unconvinced. He wondered how long it would be until the police drove her back.

Inside the little store Harley zipped up her sweater and pulled up her hood. She placed her unkept blond hair around her face to help hide her scars. She assumed word of her release had not got around to Gotham's citizens yet, she did not want anyone to panic.

Quickly she grabbed a carton of juice, a loaf of bread, some instant coffee and a box of Oreos. Placing her items on the counter along with her money she greeted the cashier and looked downward to further obscure her scars. Harley tried to look interested with the little toys and packages of gum around the counter as the woman bagged her purchases.

A tube of red lipstick caught her eye. She picked up the make up, decorated with pink hearts and flowers probably play make up for little girls.

"Can I have one of these too?" she asked quietly sitting the tube on the counter.

"Sure," the fellow blond took the makeup and plucked at the cash register.

For a moment she glanced at Harley, who was know acted preoccupied with a celebrity gossip magazine.

"Hey, don't I know you?" she asked.

Harley shook her head no.

"Hm. I coulda swore that... nah," the women dismissed her thoughts; "I guess you're just familiar. That'll be twelve forty-six," she handed Harley two bags.

After paying she rushed outside. That had been close. She wondered how she would survive in Gotham. Though Harley was legally a free woman, the citizen's of the city would believe otherwise.

* * *

Harley's new apartment was small; one room made up the living, dining and kitchen area. A small bedroom was on the far end of the living room.

She entered and locked the door behind her. Looking around she found that by 'fully furnished' Arkham Asylum meant two folding chairs, an end table with the legs duct taped on and a small ceiling fan. There were kitchen appliances as well, but they were rusted and dented. Harley wondered if the fridge even worked.

She sighed and made her way towards the bedroom, stopping to place her groceries on the broken table and to retrieve her lipstick from the bag.

Once inside the bedroom Harley found it was not much better than the rest of the apartment. Most of the small space was taken up by a bare mattress on the floor, no box springs or bed frames beneath it. Beside the 'bed' was another damaged end table and a blue lamp on top of it. A bathroom with stained, yellow wallpaper joined Harley's new bedroom.

She tossed her bag onto the mattress to begin to sort through her things. Inside was a combination of clothes she had bought before the Joker and clothes she had bought after; her old life and her new one. She guessed that the police had gone through her apartment and some of her things were delivered to Arkham. What happened to the rest of her belongings she did not know, maybe her parents got them. At this point it did not really matter to her. She and Joker had messed so much of her apartment up in an attempt to cover Harley's new life of crime. Besides that part of her was over now. But at the same time she did not feel like Harley Quinn. Now... she did not know who she was.

As Harley went through her belongings she found the gun that Joker gave her. It was in a pocket of the duffle bag all by itself. She held the weapon in her hands for a few moments. There was nothing inside it, no bullets.

Harley could not decide if she wanted to keep these memories of not as she looked at her things spread out on the bed.

She grabbed her grocery bags in search of her play cosmetics. After retrieving the plastic tube of lip stick she headed for the bathroom.

It seemed like a long times since she looked in a mirror. The last time she recalled was when the doctors had first removed her stitches, yet another horrible memory for Harley to contemplate.

The reflection before her was sickly pale and of course scarred. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles from lack of sun and proper nutrition. The Arkham Asylum diet had wrecked her hair as well. It hung in a ratted, dull ponytail at the nape of her neck. This girl in the mirror was completely unfamiliar. She paled in comparison to the wacky, painted clown with pigtails and a short skirt she had known before. And she looked even worse compared to the slick and sophisticated psychiatrist that did not know the Joker.

"He's taken everything from me," Harley whispered to the reflection, knowing she'd never answer but instead mock her every word.

She opened the make up, peeling back the stiff plastic and removing the pink cap to spread it across her pale, dry lips. Harley had false hope of restoring some fun back into her shattered life. Part of her told her that nothing was fun without Mr. J, while the other half hated him.

Harley wondered if she would always feel so torn as she spread the red makeup on her mouth.

Then she sat the lipstick on the edge of the sink. She didn't look any better. It was no use; she was hollow, nothing more than a sad clown.

Harley placed her finger tips on her now scarlet lips and moved them upward. She smeared the cheap cosmetics across her numb scars forming a fake smile. The marred and painted flesh was familiar but it wasn't her. It was a monster, a demon, it was the thing she hating and loved at the same time. It was Joker.

Angry, she scribbled across the mirror, using the lipstick as a marker. Harley furiously worked to make the reflection disappear in a fog of cherry red goo. She worked and worked until the lipstick was gone and nothing but a pink, plastic contained remained. Her eyes swollen with tears she tossed it across the bathroom from where she crotched on the sink. She looked at the mirror and found a few inches of reflective glass showing through.

"Dammit," she growled jumping off the sink and picking up her gun, "Fuck you!" she yelled.

She tossed the weapon into the mirror, leaving a series of spider web shaped cracked before crashing into the sink.

Harley threw herself on the bare mattress, her new bed, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

"Patient four, four, seven, nine?" said Dr. Strange standing in the opened doorway, "Joker," he spoke hesitantly.

Joker smirked, still lying in bed, "You called me Jok-er," he replied lazily.

"Yes, well, I need to speak with you," he sat the bag he had been holding on the floor, and then slid it across the soft floor towards the clown.

Joker sat up and stared at the bag for a moment, "What's this?"

"Your possessions; your clothing, your make up, your weapons," answered the doctor, "I'm allowing you to go. I've given most of the guards the night off, all of them unaware that no one will be working. The nurse too. I've made it as easy as possible,"

Joker raised an eyebrow, though appearing unfazed by Dr Strange's statement. Instead he appeared insulted that he was 'allowed' to leave, "Allowing me?" he repeated, "I'm here cos I want ta be here. If I wanted to go than I'd just go. And besides maybe I like a little challenge,"

"Oh yes, I am aware of that Patient four, four, seven, nine,"

"Back to formalities are we?" Joker said stretching as he did, "So... whatcha lettin' me go for hmm? Rewarding me for good behavior?"

"No," Dr. Strange replied.

Joker pulled the bag from the floor onto his bed and began looking through his returned possessions, "Then what is it?" he asked.

"I don't know if you've heard," Strange began, "But Miss Quinzel has been released,"

"Well isn't that something," Joker pulled a blue, hexagon patterned shirt from the bag, "So you managed to uh, mend the broken pieces of my little puppet," his licked his scars.

"That's none of your business,"

The clown picked at his IV, "Uh, lil help here doc,"

Dr. Strange paused and contemplated the dangers of the situation. But he could not let any guards in on his plan so he had no choice but to go into the cell alone.

He unhooked the IV leaving the needle taped into the Joker's hand, "I'll get it out later," the clown said reaching for his bag.

Joker laughed to himself, unbuttoning his uniform and pulling his undershirt off, "So anyway, what is my business then... oh yeah, why the great and powerful Hugo Strange is 'allowing' me to leave," he air quoted.

"I think you and I both know there is nothing I can do for you," Dr. Strange ran his fingers through his graying hair as he looked downward at the floor, "That's clear to me now,"

"So you're givin' up-uh," Joker smacked his lips.

"Not exactly,"

Joker buttoned the replaced his grey uniform with the blue shirt and green tie. He stood up, letting the jumpsuit fall to the floor as he began searching for his pants. Dr. Strange looked around the cell, trying not to notice Joker.

"You see, I'd like to study you in the outside world, on the streets of Gotham," explained the doctor, "Even if it is only for my own interests,"

"Gosh I'm flattered," Joker gasped with fake gratitude, he pulled on a pair of pinstriped, deep purple pants, "Buuu-ut," he began, "Isn't that putting the pubic in uh, dan-ger?"

Dr. Strange did not answer; he simply gave Joker a stern look. In return the clown simply giggled. The Joker knew the answer to his question; yes, definitely.

"I'm starting ta like you more and more Strange. Maybe I should stay after all,"

Carefully he placed his weapons in their rightful places within his coat. Knives and guns; none of them loaded but he had plenty of spare bullets, Joker tucked them away in his eggplant colored coat before putting it on.

He gave Strange a scarred smirk, "I'm kiddin'. After all I know there's a certain vigilante that'll be heart broken without meee," he pulled his gloves on.

"Yes. Well, here is the address of Miss Quinzel's apartment," Strange pulled a folded piece of paper from his lab coat, "I assume you'll want to visit her," he paused, "Oh and the nurses found this in her cell, it seems she's been missing you,"

Dr. Strange offered him a joker card, the evil jester's grin only slightly visible in the dark cell.

Joker slowly licked his top lip, starring at the card and the paper in the doctor's hand, "I might pay her a visit," he clicked his tongue a few times before he finally took the address, "Sooo I'll be seein' ya Strange," Joker abruptly grabbed the doctor's hand in a good-bye shake, "Maybe next time you'll be in the cell beside mine huh?"

"Excuse me?" Dr. Strange asked somewhat surprised as the Joker skipped down the hall, dragging his gloved fingertips along the wall.

The clown spun around, "You're excused," and disappeared out of sight.

The doctor gave a sigh of relief. Pleased that the ordeal was over and that he had remained unscathed. The Joker went peacefully, didn't harm him or anybody else for that matter. Now all that was left to do was make it look as though he had escaped the following morning and no one would suspect a thing.

Just then the wailing cries of Arkham's alarm system rang out.

Dr. Strange rubbed his temples, "He pulled the alarm," he groaned.

* * *

_Oooooooh angsty.... Harley is not emo and neither am I. Oh, sorry if you are emo. There's nothing wrong with that I just... whatever anyway. I was sorta inspired by Candy huur. The whole going nuts and scribbling with lipstick bit. Cuz I imagine Harley's life is pretty stressful. Pretty stressful indeed._

_This is the second to the last chapter ooooooooh. Harley is out, Joker is out so what do ya think's gonna happen next :P ooooooooooh._


	21. Captivity

Something awoke Harley from her sleep. A sound; no, it was more of a presence. Goosebumps formed on Harley's flesh, something was wrong. Someone was here in the apartment. She thought quickly and as quietly as she could, trying to remember what she did with her gun. The weapon the Joker had given her. It was not loaded, but she had intimidated guards with a toy gun before this. She simply had to make her intruder believe this was the real thing.

She remembered the mirror and carefully made her way to the bathroom to retrieve it from the sink.

The blond crept through the doorway leading from her bedroom to her living and kitchen area. Despite the darkness of the night Harley could tell someone other than herself was about.

At that moment a number of actions to take ran through her head. Running was one of them; after all she was close enough to the front door. Yet her feet stayed fixed to the floor. She stood motionless in the black apartment, the darkness making her recall the last night she had spent with him. Obviously those memories were not happy ones.

Slowly Harley ran her hand up the wall in search of the light switch. As it did she entertained the thought that maybe she was hearing things. She would have gladly accepted the insanity of hearing voices as opposed to this. Her hand reached the switch. Maybe this was all a dream, she began to think. Harley thought that perhaps she'd flip on the light and then find herself waking up in bed. There was only one way to find out though.

One... two... three.

The lights came on, the darkness disappeared and there he was; the Joker. Purple trench coat, freshly dyed hair and his scars caked with blood red make up.

Harley's breath quickened at the sight of him, waiting across the room. Images of that last night came flooding back. She could almost hear the sounds of furniture snapping, as well as bones. The smell of blood filled her senses, her own blood, she remembered it well. Harley recalled exactly how it felt as it ran pit of her severed veins and down her chin.

"You're supposed to be in Arkham," she practically whispered.

"Looks like they let me out," he shrugged, "Said I'm just as uh "cured" as you, precious,"

'Precious' aimed her gun toward the clown, nearly forgetting that it was there for a moment, "Don't call me that," Harley said, beginning to find her voice again.

And it was full of unexpected hatred, to herself and the Joker.

"Easy Harley," Joker raised is gloved hands in the air, "I'm not here to hurt chya… I just wanna visit. Ya know I missed you,"

"You missed gettin' laid," Harley spat, "You don't give a rats ass about me,"

"Now Harley, you don't know that. Maybe my little uh, stay in Arkham changed me, hm?"

"Look, I dunno what you want but ya ain't gettin' anything from me, so why don't chya just leave,"

"Harley, baby," Joker took a step towards her.

"No! Don't give me that," Harley's gun shook from the tremors in her hand, "Now get outa my apartment before I – I hafta shoot ya," she threatened.

Joker raised an eyebrow, "Shoot me? With what? Uh, there's no bullets in that gun of yours toots,"

He was smart; Harley had to give him that. Slowly and somewhat embarrassed she lowered her weapon.

"If you're so scared," Joker began as he removed his trench coat, "I'll prove ta you that I'm not here to uh, finish what I started, huh?"

He tossed the coat aside with a metallic clang of the knives and guns that filled it. He removed his vest, emptied his pockets of their knives and tossed the contents aside with his coat.

"See, if ya don't trust me your welcome to uh, frisk me, darling," he smirked.

"No thanks," Harley crossed her arms, feeling a little braver since the knives were gone, but only a little, "Well ya saw me. Ya got ta see all the damage ya done. How much longer is this visit gonna last?"

"Damage?" Joker came towards her again, Harley tensed as he began to circle her in a predatory fashion, "I believe I bare the same little uh, imm-peeeer-fections as you," he raised a finger to touch one of Harley faded wounds before she flinched away.

Next he let his hands linger towards her curvy waist, unable to resist touching.

Harley jerked away and whirled around to face him, "You treat them like they're something to be proud of," she cried, speaking of the scars, "They're not,"

"I think they are, after all Haaarley," he sang her name, "You and I are the only two people I know of to have lived through 'em. Certainly none of my victims have, besides you. You survived Harley… don't ya get it? This is who you aaarrre," Joker cocked his head to one side.

"You're wrong. I had a great job and a good life. I was respected and making my parents proud until I meant you," Harley's voice quaked with anger, "I'm sick of your fairy tales your- your lies!" she yelled.

"They're not lies!" Joker growled and grabbed Harley's shirt collar, "Look at us we're fucking monsters,"

"No," tears trailed down her face, "You make things up," Harley's blue eyes narrowed as she dared to say another word, "I bet ya don't even know where ya got those scars," she hissed.

Joker hit her hard in the mouth. Harley slipped it the floor with a dark streak of blood running out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin. She looked up at the clown once again. She knew she was dancing with death here, but for some strange reason she did not care. Everything inside her, every emotion, every thought that hand been dissolved into a drug induced haze was coming out all at once.

Her heart pounded heavily and her insides burned like fire.

"I sure as hell know where I got mine," she said quietly, glaring at the clown prince of crime.

Harley expected to be hit again. She had predicted that Joker would fetch that fallen coat and all its pretty little knives. He didn't.

Eyes never leaving Harley he sat down, cross legged before her. He reached for her gun, fallen beside her.

Harley's breath heaved quickly inside her chest; as if she had run miles before kneeling on this spot.

Taking the gun in his hand Joker reached inside his pocket and retrieved a few bullets.

He was going to shoot her, she knew it. Harley closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the Joker loading bullets into the weapon.

If these were her last few minutes on earth she did not quite know how to feel about them. So many things swirled chaotically inside her mind but ultimately made her numb to death.

Then she felt a soft, leather glove on her hand. Harley kept her eyes shut as Joker lifted her hand to touch his chest, she felt the thud of his heart beneath her fingertips. Unlike her own it beat at a gentle and normal pace.

"Riiight here," Harley heard Joker say in a soft voice.

She opened her eyes, she wasn't dead yet. Instead the Joker was watching her, one hand holding her's to his chest and the other offering the gun.

Harley stared at it for a moment before it registered in her brain that the barrel was facing the Joker and not her. She looked confused at him.

"Take it," he pushed the weapon towards Harley, "Gimme right here," he moved her hand around.

Harley tried to question him, but could not find the words. She opened her lips but nothing came out.

"Maybe you're right Harl, but first ya gotta prove that to me," Joker leaned closer to her, "Kill me before I kill you," his voice was quiet, the gun was closer to Harley.

Reluctantly she accepted it. Harley held it with to hands as Joker let go of the once placed against his heart.

"I-I," Harley stuttered looking at the gun in her delicate hands.

Her heart pounded furiously in her throat making her head hurt and her vision swim. She felt as though she would pass out.

Joker was as calm as could be despite the fact that he could not predict what would happen. Perhaps that was the best part of the situation to him; the random chaos.

Harley had been extremely loyal in the past but would she remain that way after what he had did? Joker had no way of knowing but he was interested to find out.

He watched her intently as she stared at the gun. She was still beautiful, even with those scars. Joker noticed her lips were smudged with lipstick and faded red stains decorated her scarred cheeks. He had to smile at that.

Harley was frozen, besides the occasionally shudder of a suppressed sob that would send tremors through her frame.

She did not know why this was so hard. She had killed before, she knew how to use the gun and now before her was the man that ruined her life. Harley had dreamt of revenge on more than one occasion during her asylum stay but she would always spend the next day in a lovesick trance. At this particular moment she was not feeling either of this, she was simply in between, confused.

Harley tried to convince herself that it was justice, it was self defense. This was the Joker, evil, ruthless and cold. He never loved her all he wanted was to take her, used her, twist her into something monstrous and then cast her out like a broken toy. He was the demented ringleader in a circus of demons that bound her and forced her into this, into Harley Quinn.

He was dead inside, uncaring and unfeeling. He wanted her to be the same. Harley was no more then a puppet for him to show Gotham that all the human race was the walking dead, just like him. She was just a demonstration, not his girl. He tricked her and now she could never return to the world of the living. She was past to point of no return and it was all his fault.

Harley was angry now. She glared at him as hot tears streamed down her face.

He stared back with those dark, unreadable eyes, smeared with black make up.

Harley would never save her reputation, but this was a step in the right direction. If she killed the Joker she would prove him wrong. Harley would show everyone that she was stronger than they thought she was and that she could continue like with the clown. If only she could just pull the trigger.

Her finger twitched as she stared into his eyes. Just a little more pressure and this nightmare would soon be over.

But the longer she sat there, watching him watch her, she could see that little boy. The lost little boy with his shoes untied and his ill-fitting clothes. The kid with tangled blond hair and big, dark eyes. He didn't know his name, or where he was born, he didn't even know who his parents were. Nothing made sense to this little boy but his own reality and somewhere deep inside the clown that little boy resided.

When Harley first meant the Joker she wanted that boy to find the answers she was looking for. And when his stories made her cry all she wanted to do was make him better. She had to make him better.

Harley bit her lip, "Mistah J," she squeaked just above a whisper.

It was not a question, or the beginnings of a sentence, she just wanted to say his name. She sniffed, wiping her tears with her sleeve before tossing the gun aside and crashing into him.

The two fell to the floor, lips pressed together and fingers frantically grasping at one another as if to be sure they were real.

Harley's hands touched his scars as if it was the first time. The marred flesh sent shivers up her spine and set fire inside her. She desperately wanted more.

He positioned himself on top of her as she wrapped her legs around him to be closer. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest as they kissed with more force. He pressed harder against her mouth until she tasted blood.

It felt as if it had been an eternity since she had felt this way. Passion and excitement rushed back into her with the taste of his kiss.

This was the Joker; everything she should have avoided when she took that job at Arkham Asylum. He was the exact opposite of what she had dreamt of as a girl and she knew that they were probably not 'meant to be'. But was anybody? Or was that made up for fairy tales? Maybe love didn't even exist in this crazy world or this damned city. In a few short minutes Harley would be having too much fun to care anyway. It was probably wrong and it certainly did not make sense. It was mad love, chaotic, twisted and anarchic as the Joker himself. Life would be boring if it wasn't.

* * *

_And they all lived happily ever after.... well it all depend on the way ya look at it._

_Here's a little epilogue because I'm sure there's questions:_

_Strange was pleased as well as interested to see the news a few mornings later. The Clown Prince of Crime and his Hench Wench out of Arkham and back on the streets of Gotham. He began taking notes for a possible book on the subject and does not intend to be finished with the clowns just yet. _

_Harley begged Joker to break her new found friend Pamela Isley out of Arkham Asylum. He did, being in a good mood now that he was out of Arkham and in the company of his girl._

_Pamela still hates the Joker but was thankful to be out and started a green house... what for no one knows._

_Jonathan Crane escaped in all the excitement of Joker raiding the Asylum. He wanted to do some observing of the clown couple as well._

_

* * *

_

Thanks for reading everyone and thanks to im-batman for proof reading.

A special thanks to those that review, ya know who ya are :D

And of course thanks to Christopher Nolan for coming up with such an awesome batman series to write about and thanks to Heath Ledger and Brittany Murphy for being such great character inspiration. May they both rest in peace.


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